


the thing with shadows is (they come from light, from somewhere)

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Aftercare, Aftercare is Very Important Children, Bisexual Garcia Flynn, Bisexual Lucy Preston, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Brought to You By 50 Shades Can Suck My Nonexistent Dick, Choking, Cuddling, Did I mention pining?, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Domme Lucy, Emotional Slow Burn Anyway, Even this Smut Fairy Has Her Limits, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Gags, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, I Don't Know Either, In Which Everyone Communicates Their Kinks but Not Their Feelings, Intense and Possibly Boring Descriptions of Consent Negotiation and How BDSM Works, Kink Negotiation, Lap Sex, Lapdance, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, No Sadomasochism Here, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Physically it's More Like a Forest Fire, Please Read Tags Carefully to Know What Kinks Will Be Used, Praise Kink, Restraints, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Size Queen Lucy, Slow Burn, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Stripping, Sub Flynn, Take Your Gender Roles and Throw Them Out the Window, There's a Lot of Sex in Here Considering Nobody is Talking about Feelings, These Two are Fucking Like Bunnies While Furiously Pining, Undercover Missions, Useless Turtles, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, Vintage Lingerie, Voice Kink, Wall Sex, as we go along, lots of pining, sorry if that disappoints anyone, the pair of them, yes that deserves its own tag, yes you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 92,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: When Agent Christopher decides they need to attack Rittenhouse in the present as well as in the past, she finds an unusual chink in the organization's armor and Lucy is called upon to be the one to exploit it.Because in college, Lucy Preston was a dominatrix.The team handles this information in various ways. Garcia Flynn handles it in a manner akin to setting a gas station on fire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought my application to Hell looked a little lacking. Read tags carefully to avoid anything that squicks you out.

When Christopher called the meeting, Flynn didn’t bother sitting down at the table. He just stood braced against the counter, arms folded.

“I’m shocked that you’re letting me attend this one,” he told her.

 Christopher did look slightly chastised at that, but she didn’t respond. “It’s time that we went on the attack instead of always playing defense.”

Yes, it was certainly well past the damn time for that.

“We’ve started correlating—” Lucy started, but Christopher cut her off.

“I don’t just mean in the past. I do appreciate your efforts, Lucy, but while we try to erase them from history, Rittenhouse is still doing damage in the present day. We need to find ways to go after them in the here and now. Especially if the Lifeboat fails us.”

“I’m working on it,” Connor said tersely.

“How do we get at them?” Rufus asked. “Even the old white men who aren’t a part of Rittenhouse are doing pretty damn well for themselves right now, in case you didn’t notice. We’re a white nerd, three non-white nerds, a guy who sounds just Russian enough to be suspicious, and Mr. Brought His Rittenhouse Wife to the bunker here.”

Flynn could see Wyatt actively struggling not to glare at Rufus. Since they’d gotten a visit from future Lucy and Wyatt, which had in turn gotten them Rufus, Wyatt had been somewhat subdued. Whatever his future self had said to him, it had hit hard. But Flynn still wasn’t going to call Wyatt his favorite person anytime soon.

In fact Wyatt wasn’t even in the top ten.

“I understand your concern,” Christopher said, refusing to meet Rufus’s level of snark—which had, admittedly, gotten sharper and more acerbic since his return to life. “But I’ve been reaching out to some people I trust in Washington, and I’ve found a way that we can get a large amount of personal information on Rittenhouse’s leaders.”

“Your plan is to blackmail them?” Jiya asked.

“That’s how they got me,” Connor pointed out. “Got me in too deep with them, then blackmailed me over it. And threatened Rufus when the blackmail wasn’t quite enough.”

“Look, the way we get these men is if we publicly disgrace them and put them in a position where even the laws and the money they’ve made can’t protect them,” Christopher said.

“What could possibly be that bad?” Wyatt snorted.

Christopher got what Flynn thought was an amused gleam in her eyes. “Turns out, Rittenhouse’s main players are all clients of the same exclusive club in Washington.”

Wyatt went bright pink and Lucy snorted her coffee up her nose.

“Like Ethan’s club?” Wyatt choked out.

“Not a gay club, no,” Christopher replied. “Although they cater to any sexuality.”

Flynn realized what she was getting at. “A sex club?”

Wyatt’s face got even redder. “A what?”

Flynn noticed that Lucy sat up a little straighter.

“It’s an exclusive club in the capital,” Christopher said. “If you’re a politician who’s into that, and there’s a lot of them, that’s where you go. They specialize in scenes.”

“In what?” Jiya sounded genuinely curious.

“BDSM,” Lucy replied offhandedly.

Flynn raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t aware Lucy understood the shorthand.

“They do monthly parties, couples’ nights, and so on.” Christopher actually managed to sound bored with the whole idea, which was amusing, to say the least. “Hopefuls have to get a reference from a member, and then fill out an application. The charge to be a member is apparently some ludicrous number.”

“It usually is, for something like that,” Connor said in his ‘I’m about to launch into a lecture’ tone. “Sex clubs for people to get together and all have sex is one thing but if you’re paying for a professional to take care of you then…”

Everyone stared at him.

“You know this is like hearing my mom talk about sex, right?” Rufus asked.

“I will not apologize for my virility,” Connor sniffed.

Rufus rested his forehead on the table with a _thunk_.

“The point is,” Christopher said, “we’ve got Rittenhouse leaders going to this club and spilling God knows what vital information to the workers there.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little cliché to assume?” Jiya asked. “The client falling for the prostitute?”

“People aren’t always looking for sex when they go to a place like that,” Connor said. “They’re looking to either regain or give up control and to focus or get out of their heads. It’s not surprising that a lot of them end up treating the workers like therapists.”

Flynn shifted a little. He could offer up his own, ah, knowledge about the dominant-submissive dynamic but he wasn’t keen on anyone in the group knowing that about him.

Not to mention he was more than a little terrified about what Lucy would think of it.

“So you, what, want one of us to infiltrate?” Wyatt asked sarcastically. “Be one of those workers, spank an old white guy for a month?”

“Yes,” Christopher replied.

Wyatt went bright red in the face.

“I can’t trust any of the usual agents, not in the FBI, CIA, NSA, or Homeland,” Christopher explained. “Not when they might be a part of Rittenhouse, disclose information to a Rittenhouse superior, and I’d have to tell them about Rittenhouse in the first place. It has to be one of you.”

“Count me out,” Rufus said quickly.

“We have to count you out, you’re one of our pilots,” Flynn replied.

“I’d go, I have the experience as a client but… ah…” Connor gestured at his face.

“You’re too well known, I agree,” Christopher said.

“I’m up to learn, but I have no experience,” Jiya said.

Rufus spluttered at her.

“Not you, Wyatt,” Christopher added.

“What do you mean ‘not me’?” Wyatt demanded.

“Do you _want_ the assignment?”

“I mean, no, but—”

“They’d eat you alive in there,” Flynn pointed out.

Wyatt glared at him. “What makes you say that?”

 _Oh, just the fact that you scream ‘submissive’ from every pore in your body._ “You’re hotheaded and impulsive. Not a good mix with something that requires careful communication and discipline. Oh, and trust. Did I mention trust?”

Wyatt flipped him off.

“I suppose that leaves you,” Christopher said, looking over at Flynn.

He’d expected as much. He could be dominant when the need called for it. He was six foot four, he knew what kind of image he projected, could project if he wanted to. Although who knew, there might very well be some women clients who wanted a taste of being in charge after dealing with the government narcissists all day.

Before he could say anything, though, another voice piped up.

“I’ll do it.”

Flynn felt himself goggling, but at least he wasn’t alone. Literally everyone was staring at Lucy.

She looked at all of them calmly, then shrugged. “I took up an extra job during my rebellious phase in undergrad. Took it up again during my masters. It was right after my dad died, Mom and I were on the outs, she cut me off financially and I had bills to pay.”

Flynn’s stomach just about hit the floor.

“You were a…” Rufus seemed to be searching for words.

“I wasn’t a prostitute or an escort,” Lucy replied. “I was a worker at a club in San Francisco. BDSM, LGBT+ friendly. I was one of their best.”

“And you were… submissive?” Christopher asked.

Lucy snorted. “Hardly.”

Flynn’s entire body went hot and he had to look at a spot on the far wall.

“You’re our historian,” Christopher pointed out.

“Jiya’s an expert on the 19th century,” Lucy replied.

While in Chinatown, Jiya had done as much historical and contemporary research as she could, trying to find Rittenhouse activity in her present-day as well as in recent history.

“And Rittenhouse is targeting Chinese history lately,” Lucy added. China, the United States’ biggest competitor economically, was understandably taking a beating from Rittenhouse as a result. “Jiya’s the only one with any knowledge of Chinese history, I’d be useless anyway.”

That had been another thing Jiya had learned a lot about working in Chinatown. Listening to the locals, learning the history of their homeland.

“She can pinch hit. So can Flynn and Mason for European history. It’s not the end of the world if I’m not here. And if it gets Rittenhouse caught—then I want to do my part.”

“I don’t think—” Wyatt started, but Lucy cut him off. She was getting better at that lately.

“Look, have any of you got experience for this? An actual resume? References?” She looked at all of them in turn.

Flynn avoided her gaze. He had experience. Just not professionally.

“I didn’t think so.” Lucy looked back at Christopher. “I’m the only one who’s qualified.”

“You’ll be in the middle of the snake pit,” Wyatt protested. “And what if someone recognizes you?”

“My mother isolated me during my… my time with her,” Lucy said, still stumbling over the topic of her forced indoctrination. “Not everyone in Rittenhouse knows about the time travel and she didn’t think I was ready to be introduced into the main community. I was supposed to have my debut at a party in D.C. a week after our mission to World War I but… fortunately that never happened. They’ll know my name but if I go under a pseudonym, it’ll be fine. Most workers use a pseudonym anyway.”

“I’ll have to draw up some fake papers,” Christopher said. “It’ll take me a day or two.”

“Just get me an interview with them,” Lucy replied. “I’ll get in.”

“So this is really happening,” Rufus said. “Lucy’s going to leave us for however long to go undercover and paddle the guys we’re trying to take down? In the hopes that they’ll give her their social security numbers?”

“Physical punishment is only one aspect of BDSM,” Lucy said casually. “Look it up. Bondage and Discipline, Dominant and Submissive, and Sadomasochism. Everyone seems to only associate it with the last part. I don’t do latex, I don’t do nipple clamps, I do bondage, I discipline, and I dominate. We clear?”

Flynn was glad that Lucy was staring down Rufus and everyone was looking at the two of them, because he wasn’t sure he was able to fully control his own expression in that moment. Jesus Christ.

Christopher nodded. “Then it’s settled. Jiya, Mason, Flynn, strategy session with Lucy on how to cover her while she’s gone. Identify our weak points. Wyatt, Rufus, any studying up you can do on history to fill in the gaps would be appreciated. I’ll be back when I have your fake identity ready.” She paused. “What would you like your pseudonym to be?”

Lucy tilted her head to the side, thinking. “Derica,” she said. “Derica Wallace.”

Flynn made a mental note to look up that name later. Wallace was obvious: Henry Wallace, Lucy’s adoptive father, the man who raised her. But Derica… he didn’t know the exact connection but he doubted she’d chosen the name just because it was pretty.

“Excellent. We’ll need someone to check up on you periodically. Pose as a client, have a session with you where you exchange information.” Denise looked over at him. “Flynn, I assume I can count on you?”

Wyatt immediately put up a protest, complete with a lot of swearing, but Flynn felt as though Wyatt was far away, on the other side of a waterfall. There was a roaring in his ears and he was painfully, horribly aware of Lucy turning her dark eyes onto him.

He swallowed. “Yes,” he rasped.

Logically, he knew he was the only option. He agreed with Christopher that Wyatt’s temperament meant he shouldn’t go anywhere near that club, Connor would be recognized, and nobody was going to ask Rufus or Jiya to borderline cheat on the other one.

That only left him.

But…

He glanced over at Lucy, saw her quickly flick her gaze away from him.

Oh, God.

He was one hundred percent certain he wasn’t going to survive this.


	2. Chapter 2

After Lucy filled out the (extensive) application and got approved to fill out the (even more extensive) list of what acts she would and would not agree to perform, her sexual history, her health history, her psychological history, and career history, she scored an interview with Stacy, the receptionist and right-hand-woman running the place.

Lucy was pretty sure Stacy was also an assassin. Nobody was that perky unless it was on purpose and Stacy’s hair pins looked rather like terrifyingly tiny and sharp daggers.

After that, she was told she got the job but needed a final interview with Candace, the woman who ran the place. Or ‘Madam’ as most called her.

Lucy was pretty sure that Candace had been special forces earlier in her life. The woman was elegant, with a carefully coifed pile of silver hair and a tailored pale pink suit, but dear God, Lucy wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.

Candace poured her some tea, asked her how she was liking D.C., if she had family, and so on. Lucy answered as best she could, trying to remember her cover—thank God for having to make up a ton of lies on the spot while time traveling—and breathed through the knot of nerves in her stomach.

At last, Candace seemed ready to get down to business. “I’m not going to lie, Miss Wallace, you’re a stellar candidate. But before we officially hire you there are just a couple of things I’d like to go over.” She paused. “If you’re onboard, that is.”

“Oh, I am,” Lucy assured her. “I really, really am.”

“So. Let’s discuss your contract.” Candace pulled out a folder. “I hope the form wasn’t too much for you.”

“No, I appreciate being thorough.”

“I just want to go over again with you some of our rules with our clients. Even if you were in a submissive role, you have the power to change the rules at any time. If there’s a kink that you don’t feel comfortable with that day or a kink you previously said you won’t do but you want to make an exception for on that day, you can do so. If you want to allow or disallow something permanently, you can speak to me and we’ll change it on your official file for when clients want to view your list of services.”

“Understood.”

“Clients can refuse something through the safe word, which you will establish at the beginning and will not be changed unless there is a renegotiation.”

“Of course.”

“So it says here… there are of course certain specifics you listed as hard limits but in general I’m seeing no pain play.”

“That’s correct.”

“It says you’re all right with role play but not the fetish gear?”

“Yes. I prefer to wear lingerie.”

“All right.” Candace’s eyes skimmed the file for a moment more before closing it. “You come highly recommended but it has been several years since you’ve done this kind of work. Tell me, what led you to return to it?”

“You make it sound like I escaped prison and wanted to step back inside.”

Candace gave her a tight-lipped smile. “You and I both know, Miss Wallace, that it’s not all fun and games in here. We have difficult clients, and being willing to provide certain services isn’t the same as thoroughly enjoying all of them. There’s the unpleasant side to this, too.”

Not in the least of which, in Lucy’s experience, was being unable to tell anybody what you did for a living unless you wanted to get shamed out of your social circle. That had been her biggest issue. She’d never had any clients she couldn’t handle, and she’d never overstepped her own boundaries. But the look on people’s faces when she’d told them…

She’d very quickly stopped telling people.

“Last but not least, Miss Wallace, it says you won’t have sexual acts performed on you,” Candace said. “Including penetration and oral.”

“Yes, that’s correct. I did say I was willing to get my clients off aside from performing oral.”

“I noticed. As you know, I’m sure, this is often about a mental release rather than simply a physical one and we don’t judge anybody for their choices. But we’d like you to get tested and to have supplies in your room in case you change your mind in the moment. We can’t have liabilities if you or one of our clients gets sick.”

“I won’t,” Lucy said. “Change my mind.”

“Nevertheless, it is policy.”

“Understood.”

She’d never had sex with her clients, and she really didn’t see how that was going to change now, especially since this time she would be doing her best to get Rittenhouse men as her clients. Nothing against anyone who did have sex as a part of their job. It just wasn’t why she’d gotten into this. She’d done it because for once in her life, here, she’d been in complete control. She had the power. And she could help others with it, help people to unwind, to release tension, to get out of their heads. She’d seen lonely people, hurt people, people who felt broken—and she’d helped them. And she’d been in command. She’d called the shots.

After growing up with a perfectionist and demanding mother, was it any wonder she’d liked it so much?

“And you understand that all sessions are recorded and monitored?” Candace asked.

“Yes.”

“If anyone hurts you, if anyone tries to do something you don’t want, then there will be a hidden panic button in your room. Press it, and security will arrive. If charges need to be pressed then we’ll have the video for proof.” Candace’s jaw hardened. “I don’t tolerate people mistreating my workers. You’ll always be safe here.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I understand.”

“We’ll put you on our roster,” Candace said. “And start you off with some of our lower-level clients. If we get good feedback, then we’ll recommend you to our higher-level clients and make your profile available to everyone. Some of our clients can become loyal to a particular worker but not usually, so don’t be intimidated that you’re new—we’ll work you in. Our clients talk to each other, though, so if you do a good job don’t be surprised if you’re in high demand. Don’t overwork yourself just because you want to see every client.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Let me know when you’ve set up your appointment to get tested. We’ll send you an email to view and approve your profile in a day or two. That’ll be all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy knew a dismissal when she heard one.

Once she was out on the street she had to blink, adjusting to the daylight again. She pulled out her burner phone and called Denise.

“I’m in,” she said as soon as she heard Denise pick up. “I’ll let you know once I start.”

“You’ll have to find a way to get requested by the men we want,” Denise said. “Including a copy of the client list.”

“I know. It’ll take me a couple of weeks, I have to build up my reputation. But I’ll get them.” This was one of the few things she knew, without a doubt, that she was good at.

“This is a long game, Lucy. Are you sure you’ll be up for it? This is your last chance to back out.”

If it got Rittenhouse on its knees, if it eliminated the people who had stripped everything from her, including her family… “I’m not backing out. I’m in this.”

“Good. From this point forward, you’ll be communicating with Flynn only. You’ll have to give him all files and information on a flash drive. Any verbal information you want to give him is fine but we can’t use that in court.”

“There’s one thing,” Lucy said. “All sessions are recorded and monitored. It’s so they can have proof of violation if a worker is assaulted.”

She heard Denise let out a slow breath. “So your sessions with Flynn will be recorded. I thought they might be. We planned for you two to actually participate in some way anyhow, this doesn’t change much.”

“If Rittenhouse gets their hands on our video—” They might not know Flynn’s face but they knew his name and if they decided to investigate the client who only came to see Miss Wallace…

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, when he comes, just find a way to give him the information without arousing suspicion.”

“…you know there were two sex puns in that sentence.”

“I know. I did that deliberately.”

Lucy startled herself with her own laughter.

“There we are. Relax, Lucy. I know it’s scary. But I have every faith in you. And if worst comes to worst, Flynn will get you out. He’s a one-man army.”

True. And it did make her feel safer to know that, of all the people on the team, Flynn was the one who would have her back.

“Flynn will take the flash drive,” Denise continued, “then return it to you next session along with any instructions from me. You’ll put any information you can on the flash drive again, and the cycle is repeated. We’ll keep this up until we have enough to grab them, at which point we’ll pull you. If anything changes in that plan Flynn will let you know.”

Lucy eyed a trash can as she walked past it to the subway. “Is this the part where I dump the phone?”

“You can keep it until tonight. Make any calls that you need to. Dump it in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Remember, Lucy—this isn’t just when you’re at work. You have to be Derica Wallace all day, every day. To your neighbors, to the guy at the deli, everyone.”

“I got it.”

“Good. Best of luck, Lucy. We’re all rooting for you.”

The phone call ended.

She got on the subway, sat down, and took a deep breath. Her legs felt like jelly.

This was happening. This was really happening. She was going undercover, and she was being cut off from everyone except Flynn—and she’d only see him once a week.

Lucy bent over, putting her head between her legs. It was fine. She knew what she was doing at her job, none of these Rittenhouse men knew her, it was fine.

So why did she feel so goddamn alone?

 

* * *

 

When she got to her apartment—her bare bones, rented by Denise under her fake name, impersonal cold-walled apartment—she just wanted to curl up on the couch with Jiya and Jess like she’d used to, before Jess had betrayed them and Rufus had died and everything had gone to shit.

Jess had been… Wyatt claimed she was wavering in her loyalty to Rittenhouse but even if she did turn double agent, that wasn’t going to immediately erase the sting of a woman she’d come to view as a friend—and Jiya even more so—turning on them like that.

Lucy took the burner phone out and dialed, pressing the phone to her ear.

Flynn answered. “Did you forget your knitting again, Christopher?”

Her stomach flipped at the sound of his voice. “It’s Lucy. I’d like to… speak to Jiya, please?”

“Lucy.” Flynn sounded… she wasn’t sure. She’d been able to gauge everyone else’s reactions to her undercover assignment easily. Wyatt didn’t understand, was intimidated, and therefore hated it. Jiya was curious, Rufus was disinterested and slightly squicked out, and Mason was amused.

But Flynn?

If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was… well. She’d gotten good at knowing when someone wanted to be, ah, dominated. But surely _Flynn_ …

“Are you all right?” Flynn asked.

“I’m… I’m good. Settled in.”

“Good. That’s good.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Flynn said, as if he’d forgotten, “Oh, Jiya, she’s right here.”

“Hey,” Jiya said.

Lucy sank onto the couch. “Hey yourself. You all holding on without me?”

“Keeping these monkeys in line is a full-time job but I’m managing,” Jiya replied. “How are you?”

“I haven’t done this in a decade, feels like I’m that old timer who decides to return to his sport. Like I’m Rocky.”

Jiya snorted. “You’re much more attractive than Rocky, though.”

“Aww, thanks, Cagney.”

“But you’re comfortable with this? I mean—yeah it’s not always sex, you said, but it’s kind of intimate. And you’re going to be doing that with a bunch of gross men trying to take over the world.”

“You get into this space where you don’t really see that anymore. When you do it with your partner, I mean your romantic partner, it’s different. But when… it’s a job. It’s a job and I focus on the rush from being in control. And with any luck I’ll be coaxing them into treating me like a therapist, y’know, so, I’m pumping them for information.”

“And getting super damning video footage.”

“That too.”

“And how do you feel? About it being Flynn?”

Lucy had become... aware of her attraction to Flynn sometime before they’d teamed up with Benedict Arnold. But she’d compartmentalized it. It helped that he was busy being the most difficult man on the face of the planet.

But then she’d lost Wyatt and Flynn had been there for her and it had been a lot harder to compartmentalize, to ignore, to dismiss.

Now—now she was going to see him at his most vulnerable. She was going to be touching him everywhere. She was going to get him to beg for her.

It sent a thrill through her stomach that she knew Denise would kill her for if she knew.

“I feel fine,” she said out loud. “I’m glad it’s him.”

“Not Wyatt?”

Wyatt had been—well. She’d fucked him on top, his wrists pinned in her hands, and he’d seemed more than into it. He’d seemed relieved, almost, that she was taking control. She would have had fun taking him apart.

But Wyatt had tried to own her heart while being with another woman.

“No.”

God help her, but she wanted it to be Flynn.

And despite what she’d said to Denise, she had no intention of just doing the bare minimum.

If nothing else she’d get it out of her system. Have the big bad cranky sasspants time bandit in the palm of her hand. It would be fun.

Get him out of her system.

Exactly.

 

* * *

 

Flynn wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the club. Mason had gotten a friend to recommend him and it had all been rather like going to a doctor’s office for the first time—he’d had to fill out a massive form listing any health problems, and checking ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for a list of kinks a mile long. Form after form, and then he was invited to come in and do an interview.

The woman in charge, Madam Candace, was clearly trying to weed out the men who would abuse her workers. She grilled him for an hour, and then he’d—at last—gotten cleared. He had to set up an appointment in advance, which felt rather like he was making a dinner reservation, and he’d secured one with Lucy—Derica Wallace—and hopefully, if all went well, he could make it a standing appointment.

Lucy had been working at the club for a month now. He’d missed her in the bunker, missed her like a goddamn limb, like his chest was hollow. He knew that undercover ops took time, that she had to establish herself as a good worker, that she had to build up a good client list before she went after the Rittenhouse members. But he also wanted her to hurry it up so she could be safely back with him and the rest of the team.

At least now he got to see her once a week. To make sure she was really okay. He got to see her, to hear her voice, after a month of frantic, tense silence.

It was going to take everything in him not to hug her on sight.

He walked in, trying to keep his breathing steady. He was… this, part, the dominance and submission, the actual sex part of it, that he was used to. His first real relationship had been with Josip, his best friend from the war, and Josip had been the one who’d noticed that Flynn had a thing for being told what to do in bed, that Flynn craved a steady hand, that Flynn wound himself up and up until he was like a caged tiger until someone pinned him down and took him out of his head. They’d explored together, and then Josip had died, and a year or so later he’d met Lorena, and they’d slowly shifted into an understanding.

Then after her there’d been…

He didn’t do this with people he wasn’t in a relationship with, people he didn’t trust, people he wasn’t in love with. Yet he found himself wishing that he wasn’t in love with Lucy, because that would be easier than walking in here like he was and pretending this didn’t matter to him when it mattered, it mattered more than he could stand.

_Why are you here?_

He’d almost told her, in Chinatown. But then Wyatt had interrupted, and Rufus had died, and future Lucy and future Wyatt had arrived and they’d gotten Rufus back, and Lucy had flung herself into going on the offense against Rittenhouse, and he just… it wasn’t the right time. And who was he to foist his feelings on her? Especially after Wyatt had been yanking her around like a yo-yo?

But now he had to go in, and do something he found intimate, with the woman he was in love with—and he had to find some way to deal with it. Compartmentalize it.

Flynn approached the receptionist, a smiling, perky blonde. She was about Lucy’s height, but he got the distinct impression that she could kick his ass if he started being a problem. For one thing, the two hair sticks holding her bun up looked suspiciously sharp. He’d pony up twenty to whoever if those turned out to not be thin daggers.

“Michael Thompkins,” he said, leaning against the desk.

Miljenko was his middle name, the most Croatian one of the three he’d been given. He’d gone by it a lot as a teenager, especially in the war, when patriotism was everything. Thompkins was a common enough name, he didn’t think it would ping anyone’s radar.

The receptionist reminded him of the membership contract, went over his list of do’s and don’ts, and then walked him back through a dimly lit, plush hallway, stopping in front of a dark red door.

“Mistress Derica will join you shortly,” she said. “When the session is over, she’ll leave. You can have a few moments to yourself, and I’ll fetch you. Don’t go wandering around.”

“Very well.” He raised an eyebrow as if to say _get on with it_.

Once he was inside the room, he just about stopped breathing. It was tasteful, he had to give them that. It was done up not in the usual red and black that everyone associated with BDSM, but tasteful shades of blue and pale gold. The bed was large, circular, and a few dressers lined the opposite wall, presumably with supplies in them. There were a few paintings on the walls—supporting hidden cameras, Flynn had no doubt.

Generally he’d say his suit helped him fit into a fancy place like this, yet he felt oddly overdressed.

The door opened, and he turned—and really did stop breathing for a second.

Lucy.

She was wearing a burgundy teddy, and he could see— _fuck_ —he could see the outline of lingerie underneath. Her hair was done up in a twist, exposing the long line of her neck and her pale shoulders. She was also… she was taller.

He looked down, and saw that she was wearing heels.

“Mr. Thompkins.” Lucy smiled at him. “I’m Derica. But you may call me ma’am.”

His stomach tightened dangerously and he felt heat slide down his spine. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good.” She circled around him. As she did so, she whispered, “I just got a session with a Rittenhouse member. I’m going to see if I can make it a standing appointment.”

Flynn nodded minutely.

Lucy went back around to stand in front of him. “I’m befriending the receptionist, she’s tougher than she looks, but I can get gossip from her. Maybe even the client files.”

“Good. Be patient, these things take time.”

Lucy nodded slightly, and then he literally felt her shifting back, command cloaking her like a well-fitting glove.

“To start with, Mr. Thompkins,” Lucy said, undoing his tie and slithering the silk out from his collar, wrapping it around her own neck like a scarf, “let’s go over your list of preferences.”

“I thought that was the receptionist’s job,” Flynn replied, quirking an eyebrow.

Lucy redid the tie on herself, then took it off again, laying it on the table with the knot intact. “If I left understanding the needs of my clients to someone else then I wouldn’t be very good at my job, would I?” She looked back at him and gestured to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

To say he hadn’t been prepared for the casual tone of steel in her voice would be a massive understatement.

He was so very, very screwed.

Flynn sat where she indicated and Lucy came to stand between his legs, nudging them open with her knee. As she quizzed him, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and hung it up. “You said your safe word is?”

“Hindenburg.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at him and Flynn had the sudden, swift, drop-in-a-rollercoaster feeling that he was going to get punished for that one.

Fuck shit _fuck_.

Lucy went and neatly hung up his jacket, then returned, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Hands stay on the bed,” she said casually, like she was letting him know it was supposed to rain later. “And your areas of interest?”

“Football, fencing, boxing.”

Lucy hooked two fingers under his chin and pressed upwards, forcing his face up to gaze into her eyes, his throat exposed. “Don’t deliberately misunderstand me, Mr. Thompkins, or this is going to be a very difficult relationship for you.”

Flynn swallowed, his throat unbearably dry, his chest going tight and his legs like lava. Lucy stared him down for another moment, then dropped her hand, smiling at him soothingly. “Now. Areas of interest?”

He’d never… he’d never had a bare-bones, straight up conversation like this with Josip, or Lorena. It had just been exploring, slowly, discovering.

But now he had to lay it all out and the words threatened to stick in his throat.

“Being tied down,” he said. “Being told what to do, when to do it. Being touched and told to hold off until the person says I can… until I get permission. Sensory play. Praise. I like when it’s a little rough sometimes.”

It could have been just his imagination, or the lighting, but Lucy looked like she’d flushed a little. “Hard limits?”

“Humiliation and pain, basically. And I’m not a huge fan of food.” Sue him, he just spent the whole time worrying the chocolate or whatever was going to stain the sheets.

Lucy pushed his shirt off, then skimmed the tips of her fingers down his throat. Flynn shuddered, struggling to hold her gaze and not let his eyes fall closed. “Soft limits?” she asked, her voice a little softer than before.

Flynn took a deep breath. Then another. He didn’t know how much of this was protocol for the club, how much was for the cameras and how much was just Lucy wanting to be safe and make sure she didn’t hurt him in any way, but he had to keep his head on straight and remember that this was just as much for Lucy as for him. She’d never been undercover before. He had to be the calm one, the one who didn’t lose his way.

“I like… I like breath play. A bit. And being penetrated. But I don’t like them at first. I need to be comfortable with my dom before I’ll let them do that. And before I’ll let them blindfold me. Gagging’s okay but I usually like to be able to see.”

Lucy nodded. “Do you have a signal for if you are gagged and can’t say your safe word?”

Flynn held up his index and middle finger, the thumb pressed against them. Lucy nodded. “Good.”

She got his undershirt off and then took her time mapping out the bare skin in front of her. She looked almost like a kid at Christmas, only more subdued, a pleased gleam in her eye and a smirk tugging up the corners of her mouth. She slid her hands over his shoulders, down his chest, her fingers brushing along the waistband of his pants.

“Inspecting the merchandise?” he murmured.

“Why, want me to take you for a spin?” she replied. “Pants off, on your back, hands above your head.”

She stepped away from him and despite being the one sitting down, he felt a jolt of vertigo.

While he did as he was told—and he rather enjoyed doing what Lucy told him to do—Lucy opened one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a shelf filled with various kinds of restraints, setting it on the dresser top.

She looked over at him, a pleased smile on her face when she saw he was in position. “Keep up the good behavior and you’ll be rewarded.”

Lucy turned to look at the various restraints, and Flynn remembered—his throat closed up. “Not the handcuffs.”

She looked back at him.

“I had a... a bad experience with them,” he explained.

Lucy’s eyes went wide and he knew that she knew what he was referencing.

Prison.

“I should have told you,” he added. “I didn’t think.”

“I suppose I can let one mistake slide,” Lucy replied, her voice soft.

She selected a set of silk ties instead and walked over, putting one knee on the bed and weaving the silk around his wrists and one of the bed posts. “Tug on them for me.”

He tugged, testing the hold. “Comfortable?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She flushed a little. “What was that you said about… inspecting the merchandise?”

Her hands slid down from his wrists, along his arms, squeezing his biceps lightly before trailing down to his shoulders, his chest. Flynn’s skin felt like it was buzzing, coming to life, spring after years of winter. He hadn’t gotten so much as a proper hug in four years, and he’d gotten used to how touch starved he was, but now—now he was aching, overwhelmed.

Lucy noticed, her gaze flicking between his face and his stomach, watching the way his muscles jumped and quivered under her touch. Her hands moved up and down his sides, almost as if she was soothing him.

“It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He could hear the strain in his voice as he struggled not to beg her. He was usually much, much better than this but right now he felt like a powder keg seconds before the spark reached it.

She pressed a kiss to his sternum, her thumbs still brushing along his sides. Flynn felt like he was going to fall apart, holding on only by the point where her lips met his skin. “How long,” she whispered.

“Four years.”

Lucy slid her hands down, down, between his legs. Flynn could feel every muscle in his legs seizing up in anticipation, struggling not to let go, not to embarrass himself. “And how long do you need, usually?”

“After a couple of months I get… antsy.”

“Then let’s start by taking the edge off.” Lucy kissed him again, this time higher up and to the left, her teeth coming out to scrape along the skin. “No holding back. The only rule is you pay attention to where and how I touch you. No zoning out, I want you focused on me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very good,” she praised, her voice close to a purr, and then she wrapped her hand around his cock.

Flynn arched up into the touch, his muscles going tight, a jolt of electricity striking him. Lucy watched his face carefully, adjusting her touch as needed, until she’d figured out the rhythm that had him panting and jerking his hips up.

“That’s it,” she cooed. She was biting her lip and if he didn’t know any better he’d say this was turning her on. She twisted her wrist on the upstroke and Flynn just about lost his mind. He tugged instinctively at the restraints, shaking, wanting to touch her, wanting to be touched, wanting everything—

Lucy kissed his hipbone, sucking at the thin, sensitive skin there. The world blurred and a strangled groan shot out of him as he came, his ears ringing.

Lucy definitely purred at that. She stepped back, and he watched as she delicately took off her shoes and then slipped out of the teddy.

The lace she was wearing underneath was burgundy as well, and close to sheer. He could see her nipples through the fabric of her bra and the damp patch between her legs. Fuck, that had turned her on.

He had to shut down the bolt of pride that came with that. It was simple biology. Watching a guy get off and knowing she was the reason had to turn her on just a little bit. It didn’t mean anything.

His chest heaved as he tried to get his breath back. Fuck, he’d needed that, his muscles were practically vibrating with the release. Lucy ran her hands up his legs, along his torso, back down again. She put her lips everywhere, kissing sweetly and savagely by turn, never giving him a chance to really come down from his high but keeping him buzzing with sensation.

Eventually she kissed up his neck, until her mouth was right by his ear. “Do you want me to stop, Flynn?” she whispered, her lips brushing his overheated skin.

He should say yes. He should stop it all right now. He’d gotten off, she’d taken care of him, she’d done her job. He’d gotten the information and established himself as a satisfied client who would schedule regular appointments.

He should say yes.

“I want to do what you want,” he replied. “Ma’am.”

Lucy pulled back, and the look of hunger and satisfaction on her face made him flood with heat all over again. “You’ve got a real way with words, haven’t you?”

She straddled his chest, then bent over, her breasts dragging along his skin as she reached for the tie she’d taken off of him earlier. “Let’s see how you do when you can’t be such a smooth talker.”

Lucy slid the die over his head. Flynn obligingly opened his mouth, letting her fix the tie in place so that it was between his teeth. She then used the existing knot to tighten it.

“Nod once if it’s comfortable. Shake your head if it’s not.”

Flynn nodded.

“Good.” Lucy tilted her head, her finger tracing the outline of his mouth. “You look quite handsome like this. Like a present.”

She kissed the bolt of his jaw and then slid downward, continuing to plant her lips on his skin, sucking and nipping as she pleased. “And presents are for people to play with. You going to let me play with you?”

Her dark eyes met his and he swallowed hard, nodding. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he’d thank her for it.

Jesus, he was in deep.

Lucy looked extraordinarily pleased, then twisted one of his nipples between her fingers. Flynn jolted, his eyes going wide as his cock jerked in response. _Fuck_.

“So sensitive.” Lucy really did look like a kid on Christmas morning. She flicked her tongue out, lapping at the nipple, then worrying it between her teeth a little.

Flynn groaned, the sound a little muffled from the gag.

Lucy massaged his thighs, spreading them. “If you’re very good, if we do this a few times, I’ll let you play with me.”

She reached between her legs and rubbed at herself through her underwear. Flynn just about choked. “Get you properly trained—and you can touch all of this.”

Oh holy fuck yes please.

He literally had no clue if this was a part of her usual routine or not. It had to be, didn’t it? She wouldn’t do anything out of the ordinary for him, of all people.

A surge of jealousy struck him and he growled. If Lucy was doing this normally, if this was routine, then he wanted to be the best. He wanted to be her favorite, the one she looked forward to, and not just because he was her teammate who knew the truth about her. He wanted to blow all the others out of the water.

Lucy laughed breathlessly in response to his growl, sliding her fingers underneath her underwear now, forcing him to watch as her hand moved under the fabric. “Keep behaving well and you’ll get rewarded. Maybe next time I’ll let my hair down or take off my bra.”

He honest to God whimpered a little.

She took his cock in her hand again, stroking lightly, teasingly. A condom appeared from… somewhere, and was rolled on. “Don’t come until I say. Follow orders, and you’ll get a reward. Disobey, and you’ll be punished. Understand?”

He nodded.

Lucy moved her underwear aside and sank down onto him—oh holy _shit_ just all at once.

It had to hurt a little, he could see the way her eyelids fluttered and she bit her lip and oh God oh fuck she was so tight, that had to hurt, he didn’t want to hurt her.

But Lucy just shifted her hips, sighing and humming, pleased. “Don’t tell the others,” she said, winking at him, “but I like them thick.” She shifted her hips again and gasped, a tiny cry escaping her. “I like that—that little burn. The stretch.” She settled herself fully, her hips flush with his.

He was going to die like this.

It was maddening, having her tight around him and not moving. Lucy watched him as he struggled to keep still, not to thrust up into her. At first he was unsure what to do, and he tried to look at her for cues, for a sign. Why wasn’t she moving? Why—

Oh. _Oh_.

He forced himself to relax, to stop straining against the ties, to take deep, even breaths.

“Fast learner. Very good.” Lucy pushed herself up until he almost slid out of her completely. “Toys don’t do the work. I use you, not the other way around. Understood?”

Flynn tried to speak, remembered he couldn’t, and managed to nod.

Lucy sank down all the way again and he just about went cross-eyed. She smirked at him. “Let’s call this one a test drive.”

Flynn tried to keep eye contact with her, he really did, but at some point his eyes fell closed and he just let it all wash over him, the way Lucy gasped, the way she would hit just the right angle and cry out, the way she experimented with how deep and how fast, where to twist her hips, how to roll them. This was what he’d been needing. She was entirely in control, she was in charge, and he just had to relax and let her take whatever she wanted.

A sharp bite to his abs jerked his eyes open. Lucy licked at the spot to soothe it, her hand between her legs, working herself to the finish line. “Watch me,” she ordered.

Oh, fuck, that was so hot, he couldn’t look. If he looked he’d come and she’d told him to wait, told him not to—but she’d also said to watch—

Lucy made tiny mewling noises as she started to lose her rhythm. “All right,” she told him. “You’ve—you’ve been good, go on, come for me.”

He felt her start to clench around him, her face flushing as her mouth dropped open and she came, and he felt everything drain out of him as he followed her.

He was dimly aware of Lucy undoing the gag and the ties, and then he felt her massaging his wrists. “You’re starved for it,” she murmured, as if to herself.

Flynn turned his head, which felt unusually heavy, and watched as Lucy gently kissed each one of his fingers. Her hand brushed through his hair, pushing it away from his sweaty forehead.

“You were very good,” she praised. “Especially for a first session.”

She kissed just under his ear, then along his jaw. “And I did promise you a reward, didn’t I? I treat my toys well.”

“Izzat what I am?” he asked, struggling with words in general but especially in English.

“You’re whatever I want you to be,” Lucy replied, that steel entering her voice again.

She really was going to be the death of him.

Lucy petted him all over, as if she was just feeling out his muscles, his skin, the planes and angles of him. Her mouth often followed her fingers, tasting, testing. At last she fetched him a bottle of water, which she ordered him to drink. By then he felt more coherent.

“What do you want as a reward?” she asked him, setting the empty bottle aside.

His gaze flicked down between her legs before he could stop himself. He wanted to get his mouth on her, to lick her open, to taste her and feel her as she came.

He doubted she’d let him do that, though. He was shocked she’d even deigned to fuck him.

Flynn looked at her bitten-red mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

Lucy looked startled at that, blinking. Then her face smoothed out. “Yes. Once.”

She gently took his face in her hands and bent down, her lips pressing softly against his. It was a pretty tame kiss compared to what they’d just done, and there was something unbearably sweet about it. His heart beat wildly in his chest, her name sounding in his ears. _Lucy, Lucy, Lucy._

Then she pulled away.

Flynn would have followed, ordinarily, would have chased that sweetness until he could taste it on his tongue, but she’d said one kiss, and that was all. So he settled back, obeying.

Lucy’s thumb stroked his cheek. She looked—she looked like she’d nearly been hit by a car and was still wondering how that had even happened. “Eat something when you leave,” she told him, her voice quiet. “That’s an order.”

He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he paused. This part was for the benefit of the cameras. “Same time next week?”

Lucy considered him for a moment. “Book two hours,” she said at last.

Two hours?

Her grin was wicked. “You’ll see, Mr. Thompkins. If you’re good and patient.”

She got up, fetching her teddy and her heels and putting both on, double-checking her hair in the mirror over one of the dressers. Then she gave him a wink and sauntered out the door, closing it with a gentle _click_ behind her.

Flynn couldn’t even move.

Holy fuck.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sank back against the wall, her legs shaking.

Fuck.

She’d never—never once had she slept with a client, not _once_. Hell, the only time she’d ever slept with anyone she did a scene with (unless her alternate self had done it with Noah and that didn’t count) was Sara, her college girlfriend, the one who’d gotten Lucy into the whole BDSM thing in the first place. And she’d been submissive, massively submissive, with Sara.

Yes, she was a sub with women and a dom with men, no need to find a therapist to figure out why.

She hadn’t planned on fucking Flynn. She’d planned on getting him to come, she’d planned on watching and enjoying, and then sending him on his merry way. But he’d clearly needed so much more than just one orgasm through a handjob, dear God. He’d been vibrating under her touch.

And no wonder, if it had been four years. The last person had probably been Lorena. And afterwards, as she’d touched him through the aftershocks and he’d done his best—despite the restraints—to curl into her like a cat, she’d realized that he hadn’t had _any_ kind of touch. When had any of the team hugged him? Or held his hand? Or curled up with him on the couch?

He was starved for touch and so she’d had to give it to him, she’d had to, she couldn’t leave him like that.

And God, the way he’d looked spread out underneath her… all of that muscle, the skin marred by a decade of battle scars, his cock thick and curving against his hip, the full length of him, the dark, glazed look in his eyes… the man worked out, all right, and he was over six feet and had the kind of face that let him get away with all manner of other sins. She couldn’t be blamed for wanting him.

And oh, how she’d wanted him.

She’d given him a way out, though. Because this had to be consensual. She wasn’t going to take advantage of him and the situation by just doing whatever she pleased to him. Her boss might think Flynn was there for whatever and onboard for sex but she knew the truth. She knew this was an undercover assignment and that he’d gotten the same lecture from Denise that she had: do the bare minimum, don’t get your wires crossed.

Well, the wires were officially crossed now. There was no way she could fuck him just the once and be done with it. She was already planning how to fuck him next week.

Once her legs stopped shaking, she hopped into the shower, then changed into her jeans and sweater.

She’d gotten carried away. All right. Fine. She could handle this. Fuck the guy every now and then, he was handsome and willing and she’d had precious little opportunity to indulge herself otherwise. It was all handled. It was fine.

Candace stopped her on her way out. “I checked out with Stacy,” Lucy said quickly.

Candace raised an eyebrow. “You fucked a client.”

Lucy swallowed. The cameras. “Yes. I did.”

“If you give one person special treatment, others will want it too.”

“Only if they find out,” Lucy replied, terrified of her own boldness. “My rules haven’t changed for anyone else.”

“He’s sex on a stick,” Stacy called from the front desk where she’d clearly been eavesdropping. “I don’t blame her.”

“I’ll fuck Mr. Thompkins if I want,” Lucy said, forcing herself to look Candace in the eye. “But only him. What? He’s pretty. Besides, other workers have favorites.”

Candace stared her down for a moment, then sighed. “Very well. I’ll let it slide but Miss Wallace—be careful. Don’t fall for a pretty face.”

“Yes. Of course. It’s just sex.”

And stealing humiliating private information on a secret organization to arrest them all but. As far as this went?

Yes. Just sex.


	3. Chapter 3

Of all things Flynn wanted to do, getting grilled by Christopher about his session with Lucy wasn’t one of them.

But he had to report in. This wasn’t an actual—this hadn’t been him going to see Lucy just to see her. This was a mission.

Christopher sat him down privately, away from the others. “How is she adjusting?”

“Well. I think she’s impatient,” he said honestly. “She’s been… she’s frustrated with how the fight with Rittenhouse is going.”

“So have we all,” Christopher replied. “But she didn’t seem overly stressed?”

“Lucy’s done this before. She was comfortable in her role and seemed comfortable with the overall situation.”

“Including doing such a thing with a coworker?”

“Lucy told you that BDSM isn’t just about sex. It’s also about wanting to give up or take control. It’s about power, and trust, and release.”

“You speak as though you have experience with it.”

“I’m a client at the club. I do my research.” He respected Agent Christopher. Truly. And there were times where he genuinely liked her and felt a kinship with her. They were the only two parents in the group and so at times he felt that she was the only person who could come even close to understanding what it had been to lose Iris.

But while he trusted her with his life, he didn’t trust her with all of his personal details. Give an inch, take a mile, and if she knew that he’d done BDSM scenes with his two previous partners and that he’d been submissive in the majority of them, she’d immediately want to grill him about why he hadn’t said anything, what his scenes with Lucy entailed, and he wasn’t going to do that.

Let Christopher think that he and Lucy were just doing some power dynamic, bare-minimum thing. He wasn’t going to get Lucy into trouble, and he wasn’t going to spend forever defending their choice, even if it had probably been a stupid choice. He’d been caught up in the moment and most likely so had Lucy—well, that or she’d felt she had to have sex with him to sell it, which made his stomach churn. At least if she’d been caught up in the moment it meant she’d wanted to ride that rush. If she’d only done it for the cameras, though…

He felt sick. He’d have to ask her about that, find some way to communicate with her to please, please don’t do anything she didn’t want to do. It wasn’t that kind of undercover assignment, at least not where he was concerned. He never, ever wanted her to touch him unless she wanted to.

Christopher nodded. “What did she say?”

“That she’s started to make contact but she needs time.”

“Understandable. You’ll deliver the flash drive to her next week. I’ll put instructions on it. She needs to get a hold of the video footage of the Rittenhouse men, and the client portfolios. She especially needs the video footage that has her as their partner—it’ll be admissible in court without dragging any of the other club workers into it. We need as few non-Rittenhouse people involved in this as possible.”

“Of course.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ll need to fill all this out on paperwork.”

“You know that this isn’t strictly a government-sanctioned operation anymore.”

“It’s sanctioned by people that I trust, and someday when we take down Rittenhouse, the people are going to need proof—the government is going to need proof—that we did this the right way, with accountability. When we go to court, we need to show that we dotted our i’s and crossed our t’s.”

Flynn put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Christopher passed him the paperwork, then stood up. “Oh, and Flynn?”

“Yes?”

“If anything changes between you and Lucy, if any lines get blurred whatsoever, you tell me.”

“Why? So you can pull me? Who’ll you replace me with?” Sue him, he wasn’t going to let anyone else deal with Lucy on this. He was the one who had experience with BDSM, he was the one who’d already established himself as a client, and if things went south he trusted no one but himself to get Lucy out safely.

Christopher fixed him with a stern look. “I will find a way to pull you if that’s what it takes to preserve this mission. If lines are being crossed I will have to put in some kind of check and balance system or I will replace you somehow. Don’t get flippant with me.”

“Well seeing as you’re so very trusting of me I don’t see why I shouldn’t be flippant,” Flynn replied. He leaned forward, jabbing the table with his finger. “I’ve done nothing but protect the team since you brought me onboard. I was right about Rittenhouse the whole time and you stuck me in solitary for it and then treated me like some suicide bomber once you brought me onboard. I don’t know what I have to do to prove to you that I’m trustworthy, but I don’t care anymore. I care about taking down Rittenhouse and I care about protecting Lucy and so I will do whatever this mission needs, but I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think anymore. Not until I start getting some of the goddamn trust I deserve. I will never, ever cross a boundary with Lucy. Never. And I think she’s more capable than you give her credit for and she will make this mission a success, so you can stop looking over our shoulders on this.”

He knew that he was a hypocrite for saying this when boundaries had already been crossed, when lines had gotten blurred from their first goddamn meeting on this mission, but he didn’t care. The principle still stood. He wasn’t going to be treated like shit anymore. Not when he’d proven himself a dozen times over.

Christopher, to her credit, looked somewhat taken aback and abashed. She nodded once, slowly. “Thank you for your thoughts. Fill out the paperwork.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Ugh, she’d forgotten what murder it was to wear heels all the time.

Lucy stepped into the employee room and slipped out of the heels, changing into jeans and a t-shirt. She was riding that high from feeling in control, but if she was being honest with herself, it wasn’t the sheer drop in her stomach buzz in her blood she’d gotten with Flynn.

It was a fun job, but it was still a job, after all. Finding a real partner that it clicked absolutely with, got to that next level with, was rare. As a worker, it was like being a server. The guest ordering a meal got more out of it than she did as the person giving it to them, even if on her own at home she enjoyed cooking and serving her family.

But Flynn… it was like he already knew what she wanted and was eager to give it to her.

There was a knock at the door as she got her tennis shoes on. “Come in.”

Stacy entered. “Hey, I’m going out to lunch, you want to come?”

“Um.” Stacy wasn’t the kind of person Lucy would usually hang out with. She was too bubbly, all over the place, perky to the point of annoyance. But she needed Stacy. As the receptionist and in many ways Madam Candace’s right hand woman, Lucy had to befriend her to see if she could get access to the videos and client files. “Sure, I’m starved.”

“There’s this great little Mexican-Korean fusion place down the road. You’ll love it.”

The tacos were, in fact, delicious, and Stacy wolfed down twice as much as Lucy did. “Don’t choke,” Lucy laughed. “Where do you even put all of that?”

“I have a high metabolism,” Stacy replied.

“I wish I had that.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, laughing. “Have you seen you? You’re doing just fine. Speaking of fine, actually, did you hear about…”

Lucy settled in to listen to the workplace gossip, laughing at the appropriate places and trying to find moments to ask leading questions. It was no more different, she realized, than when she was back in time, trying to get information and convince some historical person or other to help them, to behave a certain way. Only this time, there wasn’t any need to rush. She could be subtle, go slowly.

It both alarmed and soothed her to realize that she was so good at this. That she already had the training necessary to probe for information. Somewhere along the way, she thought, she’d become a soldier, a spy, a covert agent, and hadn’t even felt the transformation.

It made her worry about what other things she might not have realized about herself.

 

* * *

 

Flynn really wanted to know why Wyatt tended to corner him in the bathroom. He was washing his hands, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a confrontation here.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Wyatt told him.

Flynn raised his eyebrows. “I believe I’m supposed to put the soap in my hands, scrub for twenty seconds, put the soap back, rinse, then dry my hands. Unless there’s a step I’m forgetting somewhere?”

“You know what I mean,” Wyatt snapped. “Lucy—”

“Is a grown woman who has been traveling through time going after a white supremacist organization that included her mother, who conveniently kidnapped her and tried to brainwash her,” Flynn replied, keeping his tone mild. “I really think it’s time the rest of you stopped treating her like she’s made of glass. Or was the fact that she’s a dominatrix not enough of a clue for you?”

Wyatt’s face went red and he spluttered. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that no matter how much the more enlightened of us may preach about sexual liberation, working in the sex business isn’t easy. And I don’t mean the risk of STDs. I mean potentially abusive clients, I mean wondering how to tell people at parties what your job is, I mean the psychological toll of customer service. If she can handle that, then I’m pretty sure she can handle a lot more than you think, if all her successful missions against Rittenhouse and her master’s degree aren’t enough for you.”

“That still doesn’t tell me jack shit about your intentions,” Wyatt replied, taking a step and getting up in Flynn’s face.

Flynn clenched his jaw. “And I don’t think it should matter to you what my intentions are, so long as I have Lucy’s consent. She’s not an object and she’s not a child, she can make her own decisions.”

“She has to do whatever—whatever it is with you for the mission, how is that making her own decision.”

The growl worked its way out of Flynn throat before he could stop it. “If you’re suggesting that I would ever get Lucy to do something she doesn’t want to do, then you better back the hell away unless you want a rematch.”

He knew that Wyatt knew what he was referring to—the fight where Wyatt had, accidentally or not, punched Lucy.

It was a low blow, maybe. Wyatt had felt awful for doing that to her. But Flynn was sick and tired of Wyatt’s posturing bullshit. Treating Lucy like she was some helpless, innocent, naïve child who was easily bewitched by, what? By Flynn’s height or something? He was well aware that his flirtation skills were nonexistent. Once he’d asked Lorena if he was good at flirting and she’d laughed so hard she’d fallen off the couch. And even if he was Don Juan, Lucy wasn’t some blushing virgin. He’d known that even before he learned about her little side career. She didn’t need Wyatt to get into her business like this, and if she chose to sleep with someone, it was her choice. Not the work of some manipulative influence. Lucy was smarter than that.

And dammit, the people around here had to start respecting that. If she wasn’t around to defend herself and her expertise, then he’d do it for her.

“Lucy is an adult,” he growled. “She makes her own choices. And it’s no business of yours, or mine, or anyone’s, what those choices are. I have no intentions towards her except to make sure she stays _safe_. Which is more than I can say for you.”

He put his hand in the middle of Wyatt’s chest and shoved him back, out of the way, ignoring the way Wyatt’s face went even redder as he strode out the door.

Of course, the moment he walked out there, Jiya ran up to him. Because it was just that kind of day. “Flynn.”

“Jiya.”

“Can we talk?”

“…sure.” He opened the door to his room and ushered her in. “But if this is your turn to warn me about keeping my filthy hands away from Lucy’s purity then I’d rather we just skipped to the part where I tell you to get the hell out.”

“Oh. Um. No, that’s not what—” Jiya looked a little pink. “I wanted to ask you how you were doing.”

Well, now he felt like an asshole. “That’s—ah. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Jiya sat down on the bed. “I’m serious. How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

Jiya gave him a look that he might even dare to call pitying. “Flynn.”

“Jiya.”

“Come on. You and I both know you’re not fine.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jiya sighed, like he was making this difficult and leaving her no choice. “Because you’re, I don’t know, madly in love with Lucy?”

Flynn had the interesting sensation of not being able to feel his legs anymore. “How about you tell me to keep my filthy hands off of Lucy?”

“No can do.” Jiya braced her hands on the bed and tilted her head to the side. “Flynn. Honestly. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Ah, so everyone is pitying me, that’s always fun to hear.”

“Nobody’s pitying you. I mean Wyatt’s pissed at you but I think a Lifeboat trip went wrong and he got his brain scrambled and lost all common sense so, he doesn’t count. I know it’s… it’s not, easy, to be in your position, even with someone you just consider a friend. But someone you’re in love with—I just wanted you to know that I’m here, if you want to talk.”

“I have to say that’s rather generous of you. Are you sure you want to give so much of your time to the time terrorist?”

Jiya made a scathing noise. “I was in Chinatown for three years, Flynn. I learned a lot about what makes a good person and what makes a bad one. I wasn’t a… I wasn’t that kind of saloon girl, but I knew girls who were, and I saw a lot of shit go down. I know a bit of what that world is like, and I know that out of the good men and the bad ones, you’re one of the good ones.” She shrugged. “I’m just sorry it took me spending three years breaking the wrists of assholes to realize it. We weren’t very welcoming to you.”

“I did get your boyfriend shot.”

“You did,” Jiya acknowledged. “That wasn’t fun. And you stranded them.”

“I had every intention of going back for them. I just wanted them out of the way for a little while. Give them a chance to reconsider joining me.”

“You stranded them in the middle of the French and Indian War.”

“…all right, fair.”

“Look, I think you need a friend, okay? And your only friend in this bunker is Lucy, and you’re in love with her, and she’s gone. So that’s a shitty situation, all right? I get it. I was in love with Rufus for months and thought he wasn’t making a move because he didn’t like me back. I thought I’d scared him off. So I just thought—I thought I’d offer my services. Of friendship.”

Flynn ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t think that I don’t appreciate it. Because I do. But I don’t know what there is to say about it. I—she’s not—she doesn’t feel the same way and I have to remember that. My feelings aren’t her responsibility. They’re mine.”

“I get that. But, y’know, if you ever come back and you feel like crying on someone’s shoulder or waxing poetic about how her hair caught the morning sunlight…”

“We’re indoors.”

“You know what I mean, jackass.”

He smiled in spite of himself, and Jiya smiled back. “All right. I will consider your offer.”

“Great.” Jiya stood up and grabbed his arm. “Now c’mon, we’re playing Mario Kart.”

“What?”

“The talking about Lucy is up to you. The friendship is mandatory. You’re being gang pressed into platonic affection, Flynn. Live with it.”

He rolled his eyes, but he let Jiya lead him to the TV area.

 

* * *

 

“Oh!” Stacy said as they walked back into the club, “I know what you should do!”

“Wear flats?”

“No.” She grinned at her. “You should come to the bar tonight with us!”

“…with who?”

“All of us!” Stacy made a sweeping motion with her arm, as if all the other employees were standing there in a group. “We gossip, de-stress, and you’ll love it. Besides, everyone’s dying to meet you properly.”

“Word travels fast around here, huh?”

“Oh, definitely. You’re so mysterious, and you get glowing reviews.” Stacy winked at her. “Call us curious. Will you? Say you will.” She stuck out her bottom lip, pouting.

…dammit. Lucy had to go, to get information. And besides—the pouting reminded her of Amy when Amy was being deliberately annoying.

“Okay, sure.”

Stacy squealed, hugging her. Oy vey.

That was how she ended up in a bar downtown, nursing a beer while the various employees around her downed shots and gossiped about the clients.

“Lord,” Paul said, “if Candace doesn’t start making a knot-tying class mandatory for clients I’m gonna lose it.”

“A knot tying class?” Maya snorted. “Try a goddamn paddling class.”

“I’ll teach,” Lucy volunteered, trying to get in on the conversation.

“Fuck yes,” Maya replied.

“How’re you liking it here?” Paul asked. “Stacy’s been raving about you. Did you go down on her or something?”

“Ha, ha,” Lucy replied, flipping him off. “I guess she reviews the videos?”

“Stacy knows everything that goes on,” Maya explained. She then turned to where Ryan and Tanya were dancing. “Hey, leave room for Jesus!”

“Jesus can join if he wants, we’re not stopping him.”

“How those two can have sex after working all day, I don’t know,” Paul groaned.

“It’s different when it’s with someone you care about,” Maya argued. “They’re in love, you can’t begrudge them that.”

“They’re a goddamn primetime drama, how many of us actually find someone while working at this place, huh?”

Maya waved him off. “Ignore him, Derica, he’s a stick in the mud. Anyway Stacy can monitor the videos along with the security team, so can Candace, it helps them pair clients with employees who will do well with them. She said you’re great.”

“Better than Melissa, anyway,” Paul snorts.

Maya rolls her eyes. “Fair enough.”

“What’s wrong with Melissa?” Lucy asked.

“Eh, she’s going to be in big trouble when Candace notices she’s what we’d call… lazy about the aftercare process.”

Lucy tried not to perk up too much. “Well that’s shitty.”

Aftercare was the period of time where the dom took care of the sub, bringing them out of that submissive headspace and helping them to physically and emotionally adjust back into their normal headspace. Lots of gentle physical touch, including petting and kissing but often just holding, giving the sub food and water, and helping the sub to engage in an activity they enjoyed like reading to them or watching a film they liked, were all forms of aftercare.

Flynn, she remembered, had been touch starved. She’d run her hands all over him, kissing his fingertips, his knuckles, kissing what felt like every inch of him. He’d responded beautifully.

She shoved that thought away. This was about the clients, not Flynn.

Specifically, the clients she could get from Melissa.

“I know, right?” Paul shrugged. “But I’m not gonna be the one to rat her out, y’know? Nobody likes a rat.”

“Haven’t her clients said something?”

“So many people come to us not knowing what the hell proper BDSM is,” Maya said. “How’re they gonna know about aftercare? Nobody talks about it.”

“Is it just with the clients she doesn’t like? Some of them can be jerks.”

“Nah. I mean, we all have difficult clients. TJ, over there? She’s got a couple of old white men, stuck up as all get out. She told me they’re the brattiest subs she’s ever met.”

Hmm. Could be Rittenhouse clients. “She’s got Lansen and Hochstatter, right?” she asked, throwing out two Rittenhouse names.

“No, no, Benton and Morris,” Paul corrected.

Another two Rittenhouse members. All right, then.

Melissa and TJ.

She had the start of her hit list.

 

* * *

 

Flynn needed Jiya’s help to digitize the photo.

“How she hasn’t figured out you’re in love with her,” Jiya grumbled as she uploaded the image onto the flash drive, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t make me regret befriending you.”

“I befriended you. I did the work here. And you owe me cookies for it.”

Jiya finished the transfer, then pulled out the flash drive. “You’re all set, with plenty of memory left.”

“Thanks, Jiya.”

He took the flash drive to his room, where he plugged it into the laptop that Christopher had given him. No social media, of course, but he could use it for research since they were all sharing the role of historian now.

He downloaded all the files onto the flash drive, then put it in his pocket.

Time to go.

 

* * *

 

Lucy took a deep breath to steady herself.

Flynn was in the other room. Just a few feet away.

She double checked her hair in the mirror, adjusted her bra underneath the chemise, felt that the garter belt was holding up the stockings. Made sure her lipstick wasn’t smudged.

This wasn’t a date, for heaven’s sake. Flynn didn’t care how she looked, not really. Why was she trying to impress him?

She walked across the room, opened it, and then stepped into the hallway and entered the client room.

Flynn was looking through the dresser drawers, his back to her, but he turned as she entered. The look on his face was extremely gratifying.

Lucy couldn’t resist a little twirl, showing off her outfit. She saw Flynn swallow. “A gentleman compliments a lady’s outfit,” she told him.

Flynn’s eyes were like two black holes, his cheeks flushed. “You look… you look good.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Just good? Come now, Mr. Thompkins, I think you can do better than that.”

Flynn licked his lips. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Lucy ignored the thrill that ran down her spine. “Much better.”

She crooked a finger at him, and Flynn walked over to her, standing still as she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders, then down his chest. “You look rather stressed, Mr. Thompkins,” she noted. “Hard week?”

“Work was rough,” he replied.

“Well, let’s see what we can do to fix that.” She let her hands drift downward, towards his belt.

“Careful, I think there’s some change in my pocket.”

Lucy reached in, her hands closing around a small flash drive. She could see Flynn’s jaw clenching as she reached further in, brushing deliberately against his cock. She could already feel him getting hard and a pleased smirk curled up the corner of her mouth. “Happy to see me?”

Flynn gave her an _are you seriously making that joke_ look. Lucy pulled her hand away, tucking the flash drive in between the two linings of her bra.

“Don’t say I never tip you,” Flynn told her.

“And don’t make me gag you again,” she replied. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble someday.”

“Are you sure? I think you like it.”

“And I think you’re asking for it. Now why don’t you be good for me and strip?”

Flynn swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She did so enjoy him saying that.

Lucy stepped away, walking over and grabbing the timer and the silk ties, setting both up and then turning back to watch Flynn set his clothes aside.

A purr rumbled in her throat. That was six foot four of a lot, and it was all hers.

“Get on the bed,” she ordered softly, her stomach buzzing as Flynn obeyed.

She secured his wrists with the ties, then pushed her hand through his hair, petting him before moving her fingers down to cup his face, her thumb dragging over his cheekbone. She got his chin in her hand, pulling his mouth open.

Lucy leaned down. “I bet you want me to kiss you again, don’t you?” she whispered. She leaned down a little more, her mouth barely an inch from his. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She could feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips as he spoke.

“Mmm. Maybe, if you’re very good, I’ll let you.”

She pulled away and set the timer. “But first, we’re going to play a little game today. I get to touch you however I want, and you have to hold on until the timer runs out. You can’t come until that timer goes. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“This isn’t about what you want, is it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You don’t want it to be about what you want.” She spread her legs, settling herself on his lap. Flynn looked like he was trying to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head. “This is about what I want. And you want me to get what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, very good.” She slipped off the chemise, letting him see her bare stomach, the way the bra pushed her breasts up and together.

Flynn looked like he had just about swallowed his own tongue. Lucy’s stomach melted.

She braced herself on the bed, kissing his shoulder where he’d been shot in Chinatown, swirling her tongue around the scar. Flynn shuddered, then went pliant.

Much better than last week. He was starting to trust her more, relaxing faster. It gave her a rush like nothing else, far more than with the clients—she didn’t care about them, they were the means to an end, but Flynn—she wanted him to trust her like this, to give himself to her. To relax with her and let her take care of him like this.

She kissed slowly down his body, finding each scar—and there were a lot—and exploring it thoroughly with her mouth. Flynn’s muscles quivered underneath her but he breathed deeply, keeping himself pliant. She hummed, pleased, and continued working her way down.

When she got to his hipbone she sucked a mark into it, scraping her teeth a bit, and then worked her way back up. She nosed at his neck, kissed his pulse point. He shuddered and she smiled against his skin. Soon he’d trust her enough to let her put pressure there. To make his breath catch.

Her fingernails skimmed lightly up and down his thighs, keeping her touch teasing, not enough pressure to give him anything to truly focus on. She glanced at the timer—a third of the way through.

She moved downward, her mouth watering. She’d guessed a few times, from glancing at Flynn in historical outfits (what, he wore them well) that he was… proportionate to his height. But it was definitely satisfying to have that confirmed.

Lucy worked her tongue under the foreskin, lapping at the slit. Flynn make a noise in the back of his throat, like he’d tried to choke off a louder sound.

She pulled back. “I want to hear you today.”

Flynn shuddered again at that. Lucy smiled and went back to getting her mouth on his cock, exploring, kissing and licking, not sucking just yet but feeling all the ways that he reacted to her, all the ways she could make his legs jump, his stomach tense.

She finally sank down onto him, working the foreskin down, swirling her tongue around the head and going down as far as she could. Flynn let out a long groan and she had to struggle not to smile, sliding up and then back down again.

Flynn was good, though, he was so good, holding still, his harsh breaths and shaking muscles giving him away but not once thrusting up into her. She could taste salt bursting on her tongue, his cock was starting to jerk in her mouth and knew she had to be careful, that she couldn’t push him too far. She pulled off, checking the timer.

It was two thirds done, and he had been very good for her…

Lucy slid her hand up Flynn’s chest, cupping his cheek. His eyes were unfocused, his face flushed, his hair starting to stick to his forehead. She pushed it up out of the way, then gently traced the lines of his face with her index finger. “Focus on this,” she told him, drawing him back in, helping him clear his mind.

Flynn blinked slowly, looking up at her. Lucy smirked at him. “You think you can keep being good for me?”

His throat clicked dryly as he swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pushed up, reaching behind and unhooking her bra, letting it drop to the floor. Next she slid her hands up her thighs, hooking her thumbs in her underwear and sliding it down, over the stockings, dropping that to the side too. The garter belt was a bitch to deal with and she figured, hey, she looked good with it and the stockings on, so she left them.

Lucy moved her hands over her body. She’d once been so self-conscious about the idea of this—not just touching herself but doing it to show off for someone else. It had felt awkward and narcissistic.

Now, she felt confident, powerful, playing with her breasts, cupping them, rolling them in her hands, trailing her fingers over her stomach, her thighs, then getting her fingers between her legs.

“Watch,” she instructed softly, working a finger inside of herself as her thumb rubbed at her clit.

Flynn groaned again, his eyes fixed on her fingers moving inside of her, on how she swiftly worked herself open. She pulled her fingers out, slick with herself, and shifted to straddle him properly again.

“Remember, not until the timer,” she told him. She rubbed her hands up and down his sides, pleased to see that Flynn wasn’t tugging at the restraints. “Unless you need to stop now.”

Flynn shook his head. He looked like he was at the point where he was struggling to form words, or perhaps just words in English. Lucy leaned over, putting a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to talk if you can’t right now.”

He looked beyond grateful to her, and Lucy’s heart just about broke. When, she realized, was the last time someone had really paid attention to Flynn’s body language? To what he needed but wasn’t saying?

She sat up again, rolled on the condom, and lined him up, sinking down onto him as slowly as she could. She relished the stretch, feeling filled, unable to get in a full breath as he slipped further inside of her. She hadn’t had sex since Wyatt and she’d missed this, missed it so much, but _fuck_ it was overwhelming.

A shudder ran through her as he bottomed out inside of her. She inhaled sharply a few times, adjusting, preparing.

Then she moved.

She glanced at the timer—just enough, just long enough if she touched herself. She rolled her hips, searching until she found that bone-deep angle that had her choking down a cry. Flynn was making desperate noises under her and she locked eyes with him, saw the way his pupils were blown wide, the way he looked like he was drowning only loving it, lost in it. She almost wanted to take a picture.

Lucy got her hand between her legs again, rubbing at her clit, almost wondering if she should stick her fingers in with Flynn’s cock, catching sight of his hands and wondering if he’d let her, if he’d work her up to getting all of that inside of her until she was sobbing with stimulation—

Her mouth dropped open on a moan as she came, shaking. She kept moving even as her body started to ride the edge of pleasure-pain, and she heard the timer go off. “Okay,” she told him. “Come for me, inside me, I want to feel you.”

She’d said that plenty of times to clients, even though she didn’t fuck them. _I want to feel it, I really want to feel you._ But this wasn’t lip service. She meant this one.

Flynn’s entire body shuddered and his cock jerked inside of her, making her gasp. She felt a sudden annoyance that there was a condom in the way, wanting to make a mess, wanting more proof that this had happened. She was on birth control. No worries on that front.

But Candace would absolutely kill her if she risked an STD with a client, even though both she and the client had been cleared.

So she satisfied herself with watching Flynn’s face, the way he went tense and then relaxed into utter bliss.

Lucy kept him inside her until he started to soften and then she reluctantly got up, undoing his hands and massaging them, fetching him some water. Flynn gave a murmur of surprise as she guided him to turn over. She liked to have variations in the kind of aftercare she provided, just like she had variations in the kind of things they did in a scene.

Flynn’s breathing evened out as she massaged his shoulders, dropping a kiss to his spine now and again. He was extremely responsive to her touch, still. It made her tempted to tell him to tell the rest of the team they were obligated to hug him once a day. Yes, even Wyatt.

At last she pulled back, shaking out her hands. “You were quite good today,” she told him.

Flynn blinked his eyes open and stared at her, a trace of his usual sass entering his face. “Does this mean I get a reward, ma’am?”

Well, since he’d remembered the ‘ma’am’…

Lucy leaned down and tilted his head, kissing him. This time she let it last a little longer, her tongue swiping over the seam of his lips, before she pulled back. She ran a hand through his hair. He was so relaxed now, breathing deep and slow, the tension gone from his muscles.

She wished he could be like that all the time. Was this how he had been, when he was a civilian, with a family? Soft and easy and loose and relaxed? None of the hard edges, none of the coil she felt wound tight in him?

It made her want to kiss him again, just to savor this.

Instead she pulled away. Her job was done, the exchange was made, Flynn was taken care of and she’d had a very nice orgasm and a very fun time.

Lucy slid the rest of her outfit back on, patting her hair. She’d let him see her with it down next time, it was a pain to keep up like this.

“See you next week,” she told him. “If you’re lucky it just might be audience participation week.”

Flynn gave her a lazy smirk and she winked at him, walking out the door.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she did when she got home was plug in the flash drive.

All right. Two folders. One said _Instructions_ and was presumably from Denise.

But the other said _For Lucy_.

She clicked on it.

Rows and rows of documents filled the screen—books, she saw. Dozens of books. Some on history, some fiction. There were movies, mostly older films like _It Happened One Night_.

And a picture.

She clicked on it, pulling it up.

A sob got caught in her throat.

It was Amy. The picture from her locket, the one she’d taken out when she’d given the locket to Fei in Chinatown, the picture she’d had to leave behind in her room because she was undercover and couldn’t take it with her…

Someone had made a digital copy and put it on the flash drive. For her. Along with the books, and the movies, things they knew she’d like.

 _Flynn_.

It had to be. _It Happened One Night_ , that was the movie they’d watched after Kennedy, when he’d silently kept her company. _All the Light We Cannot See_ , that was a book they’d discussed on a mission to France just after World War II.

Lucy pressed her hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut as her chest heaved with another sob.

He’d given her a way to keep some of herself. He’d given her things to read and do so that she could fill all those hours alone in her apartment. He’d given her Amy.

She pushed the computer away from her and cried, wishing she could call him up and thank him.

Then she got ice cream, downloaded Amy’s photo onto her laptop, and then plugged the flash drive into the DVD player to watch one of the movies.

She fell asleep staring at Amy’s image on the computer screen.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucy felt terrible about this.

She hadn’t even done it yet, and she already felt terrible.

But she had to get to the Rittenhouse clients that TJ had, and they were loyal to her so far. They wasn’t willing to switch over to another domme without good reason, not when they liked TJ. Lucy had noticed other clients were that way—and she didn’t blame them. If you found a domme that you liked, why swap? Finding a proper domme was like finding a good tailor.

Now, though, all the normal rules were out. Once she got these guys to have a session with her, she knew she could blow TJ out of the water. She just had to make it happen.

So she brought a small pouch to work in her purse, did her morning session, and then went into the employee break room where there was the coffee maker and the fridge.

Every day, TJ brought in a energy shake that she made out of spinach and some chocolate superfood powder and God knew what else. She left it in the fridge.

It was a simple matter to mix in some laxatives.

Lucy then walked out of the break room and went to lunch with Stacy.

When they came back, Candace was standing in the lobby, arms folded, looking stern. “Stacy,” she said. “Miss Wallace. It seems that Miss Chaucer can’t make her appointment with her clients today.”

“Is everything all right?” Lucy asked.

“Everything will be fine,” Candace replied. “She’s simply ill. Stacy, I will explain to the clients. If they get upset, that’s for me to deal with. Miss Wallace, would you be able to stand in for Miss Chaucer?”

“Of course,” Lucy said. “I’d be happy to.”

“It wouldn’t be overexerting yourself?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Really. I did back to back sessions after finals week in college to work out all the stress—this is nothing.” She smiled and went to go get changed. “I’ll be ready in fifteen,” she called back over her shoulder.

Success.

 

* * *

 

Flynn walked into the club, nodding at Stacy. She smiled at him. “The usual, Mr. Thompkins?”

“Yes, I should have an appointment.”

“You sure do.” Stacy beamed at him. “She’s becoming quite popular, our Miss Wallace.”

“Is she now? I’m surprised you’re not popular yourself.”

Stacy laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere, but I’m just a secretary.”

“I don’t suppose that there’s a… first come first serve sort of system, as Miss Wallace grows more popular?” he asked, leaning against the desk and giving Stacy his most calming, friendly smile. “I’d hate to lose out on Miss Wallace because someone else snuck in when I’ve been coming to her from the start.”

“Careful with that attitude, she’ll punish you for it,” Stacy teased.

Flynn faked a carefree laugh. “Well, guess I’ll have to just bring that attitude into the session, won’t I?”

Stacy giggled and pressed the buzzer for Flynn to go in. “Don’t worry, Mr. Thompkins, if you’ve made a standing appointment, then it stands, come hell or high water.”

Flynn nodded at her. “Thanks, Stacy, you’re the best.”

He winked, and then moved into the club proper. He knew his way by now, down the hall to the right door, stepping inside.

But his heart hammered like it was the first time all over again.

He suspected he wouldn’t ever get used to this. To seeing Lucy—feeling Lucy—having her like this—

The door opened and he started to turn around—

“Don’t turn.”

He stayed still, a shiver working its way down his spine.

“Sit on the bed.”

Flynn sat on the end of the bed. He heard Lucy walking over to… somewhere, and then heard some jazz music starting up.

He kept his hands on the bed and swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

A moment later, Lucy walked around, stepping into view.

Holy shit.

Talk about the whole nine yards—she had stockings, heels, one of those… shit he couldn’t remember the name, they were like corsets except actually easy to take off, they just looked like corsets but didn’t provide all of the support that went with it, basically just for show… Her hair was done up and she was wearing gloves and a goddamn choker necklace. It was all black, because apparently she just wanted to go one hundred and ten percent today.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to survive this.

Lucy pushed a hand through his hair, her nails scraping slightly, then trailed her fingers down to cup his jaw. “You’ve been very good for me lately, haven’t you?” she asked.

“I try,” he quipped.

Lucy’s smile was one he’d never seen on her outside of this room—it was like sin. “If you can be very good for me today, I think you’ve earned a few… rewards.”

Her hand trailed down, taking his tie in her hand, letting it slide through her fingers. “You remember those soft limits we discussed? Certain things you won’t do until the person has earned your trust?”

Flynn nodded, a thousand possibilities flashing through his head. If Lucy wanted him to do one of those things with her—he’d do them. He’d do just about anything she asked. He trusted her to take care of him through it, to make it good for him.

“I have soft limits too. Things I don’t let partners do to me unless they’re very good for me and can show me that they’re the kind of sub I can really trust.”

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and undid his tie, setting them aside, then popped the top button on his shirt. Her thumb stroked the hollow of his throat. “The kind of sub who does what I ask, when I ask, whether that’s lying still or touching me a certain way. Who starts when I say start and stops when I say stop.”

Lucy took his chin in her hands, angling his head so that he had to look directly into her eyes. “Do you think you can be that kind of partner for me?” She tilted her head, pouting ever so slowly, drawing attention to her mouth, her dark lipstick. “Trust goes both ways, here. Do you want me to trust you?”

God, yes. More than anything.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you think I can?”

“Yes.” Both in and out of this room.

“No matter what?” Lucy asked, her voice soft, and Flynn had the feeling that right now, they were talking about so much more than this scene.

“Yes,” he repeated, his voice just as soft.

Lucy gave him a swift, gentle smile, a real smile—or, well, not any less real than the ones she gave as a domme but matching the ones he saw in her usually, the Lucy smiles he’d grown used to—and then her face smoothed out and she let go of him.

“Then do as I say this session, and I’ll let you participate this time.”

Participate.

“Ropes are fun, wouldn’t you agree?” Lucy took a step back, shifting her weight, then reached up to her hair. “But you must be wanting to get a little more… involved.”

She undid her hair and it fell around her shoulders in a cascade, thick and dark and curling.

“So today, if you’re good, starts audience participation day. You don’t touch until I say, you come when I say to and how I say to, and when you touch me you do it how I say, when I say it. Are we clear, Mr. Thompkins?”

Flynn had to blink to focus his vision away from the way her hair framed her face, drawing his gaze back onto her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Then we’ll begin.”

 _Participation_.

He was really going to die.

 

* * *

 

Lucy ran a hand through her hair, playing with the curls, tossing it over her shoulder. She started swaying to the jazz music, letting Flynn’s gaze latch onto the movement of her hips.

At the first club she’d worked at, there was a stripper bar in the front, and then the client rooms for BDSM play in the back. Not everyone knew about those rooms, or what exactly went on in them. She’d started out as a dancer and had worked her way up to domme, training under one of the other doms there.

She didn’t really do strip teases or lap dances anymore. Especially for the Rittenhouse clients. They didn’t get to see her naked. Yes, all right, a body was just a body, for crying out loud breasts were for nursing not for sex if you wanted to get right down to it, but if they succeeded in this, if they arrested these men, she didn’t want to be on the witness stand looking at them and knowing they were picturing her naked. She’d be nervous enough without that blow to her morale.

No, with her other clients she ordered them around, made them lick her shoes or something, tied them up good and proper, she used toys, but they never got to touch her. They never got to see her fully naked—she kept some sort of bra and panties on. She never fucked them or put her mouth on them. And she didn’t show off her body. This was about them, about their feeling good, about exploring their bodies, about giving them the mental release they needed.

But she wanted to show off for Flynn. She didn’t care if her clients wanted her or not. She wanted them to want her because she took care of them psychologically and physically. She wanted Flynn to want her because…

Lucy shoved that all away. Those were dangerous thoughts, thoughts she couldn’t afford to have.

She took a deep breath and focused back in on the moment.

Lucy reached up, undoing the choker. It was just a simple black strip of leather. The fun part, though?

It was adjustable.

She bent down, giving Flynn a real good look at her breasts where the bustier kept them pushed up and secured. “May I?” she asked.

Flynn understood what she meant and tipped his head back, baring his throat.

Lucy felt a rush of heat, her thighs and stomach clenching as she secured the choker around his neck. It wasn’t tight, but it was there, a presence, one he’d feel every time he sucked in a deep breath or swallowed.

Flynn’s eyes slid closed and he shuddered. Oh, fuck yes. He looked good like that.

Lucy ran her fingers down her now-bare throat, trailing them over the tops of her breasts, still moving to the music. She moved her hands down, then unsnapped the garters, making a show of stepping out of her heels, of sliding down the stockings and delicately kicking them away, of moving her hands back over her now-bare legs.

She remembered practicing for Sara, in front of the mirror at home alone, working her body along to the music until she felt confident, until she could show off and not giggle out of nervousness. She tossed her head back and played with her hair, moved her hands all over, gave Flynn a few of every angle of her before she reached up and started to tug down the zipper of the bustier.

That was the thing—bustiers were meant to imitate the look of a corset, but didn’t provide as much support and could easily be taken off. Like hell she was dealing with actual stays right now (although, in college, she’d gotten good enough to be able to lace herself up in a corset on the bus en route to work).

The look on Flynn’s face as she set aside the fabric, exposing her stomach and breasts—she almost wanted to ask Stacy if she could get the video so she could snap a freeze frame of this moment. He looked like he wanted to devour her.

And God, did she want to let him.

His hands clenched in the bedsheets on either side of him, the choker tugging at him as he swallowed hard. She could see him tenting his pants, and another bolt of heat shot through her.

Finally, she hooked her fingers in her thong, the last bit of clothing she was wearing, and slid it down, casting it aside.

Flynn’s mouth dropped open, just a little. It was an extremely gratifying look on him.

She let the song end as she slid her hands up his chest, over his shoulders and arms, then back down again.

And then she swung a leg over and settled in his lap.

 

* * *

 

Flynn made a noise like he’d been gut punched. Lucy was—God he could feel her even through the fabric of his pants, how hot and wet she was, and her weight against his aching cock, oh _fuck_ …

She got her hands under the sides of his jaw and tilted his head up. Her hips started to grind slowly and Flynn just about went cross-eyed, his vision blurring momentarily. Sweet Jesus. “Look at you,” she whispered. “Being good, not touching.”

Her hips never stopped moving, and honestly, Flynn had never really seen the appeal in lap dances before but oh fuck, he was changing his mind now. He was about ready to go insane. Lucy slowly popped each button on his shirt, until she could get at his bare chest. He’d been lazy that day and hadn’t gone with an undershirt and Lucy was apparently pleased with this, a happy sort of purr in her throat as she ran her hands over his skin.

She kissed where his skin met the collar, then put her mouth at his ear. “I want your mouth on my breasts.”

Lucy got her hands on the back of his head, pushing his face down, and Flynn didn’t waste a moment. Her hot, soft skin underneath his lips, getting to actually touch properly, participate, to make her shudder and moan a little…

Her hips were moving faster so that she was no longer really keeping a rhythm, just grinding down, sending sparks through him. It was good, so goddamn good, but not enough—he needed more, he needed to be inside her. He could feel her, so close, her slick staining his pants and her warmth pressing into him and he wanted her so badly oh _God_ he wanted her.

Lucy grabbed one of his wrists and put his hand firmly on her ass. “Spank me,” she ordered.

Flynn just about bit down on her breast in surprise. He looked up at her, searching her gaze. She—what?

Lucy’s voice grew sharp. “That’s an order.”

Flynn swallowed. He didn’t want to hurt her… but he also had to do what she said.

He flicked his wrist lightly, but Lucy shook her head. “Like you mean it,” she told him.

He took a deep breath, the collar tightening around his throat, making his cock twitch. He spanked her, harder, and Lucy moaned, shaking.

“Good, yes, again,” she ordered.

If he’d been allowed, if they’d been in his room in the bunker, he would’ve asked her if she was sure. He would’ve said her name, double checked. But he couldn’t. And he’d promised her he would be good and touch her how and when she said.

So he did it again.

Lucy bit her lip, her head falling back as a satisfied noise escaped from the back of her throat. She looked down at him through hooded eyes. “Did I say you could stop with your mouth?” she asked, archly, imperially. Like she was a queen.

Flynn was going to lose his goddamn mind, he just knew it.

He went back to kissing along her breasts, sucking at the nipples, scraping his teeth along them occasionally because Lucy seemed to like that edge.

“Again,” Lucy ordered.

He knew what she meant. He spanked her, every time she asked, his throat working dryly, the collar a constant reminder that he was hers, that he belonged to her in this moment, the pressure and friction on his lap wasn’t letting up and she was making these fantastic noises and starting to cry out every time he smacked her ass, his mouth was all over her, every part he could reach, he could smell her, he could feel her, he—

“Come for me,” Lucy ordered.

No. No, no, he couldn’t, not like this, he wasn’t a teenager any more for crying out loud.

“Yes, you can,” she told him. “You’re—ah, _ah_ —you’re going to come just like this, with me in your lap, because you need it and you’re that desperate and you do what I say.”

Her mouth was at his ear, her hands everywhere, all over him—

“Just like this,” Lucy whispered in his ear. “Just like this, Flynn. You’re going to come for me. Because I told you to.”

Oh _fuck_.

His entire body shook and he almost fell backwards onto the bed. He bit Lucy on the swell of her breast, and he dimly heard her making a sound, he thought he felt her coming as well, he couldn’t be sure—it was all white noise and pleasure raking its claws through him, leaving him raw. Emptying him out.

Lucy pulled back a bit, taking his face into her hands. “ _Very_ good. You can keep touching me.”

Flynn hadn’t even realized he was still doing that. He felt starved for her, her hands on him and his hands on her, the warmth of her, the softness. He wanted to bury himself in her and never come out again.

Lucy helped to finish stripping him and then straddled him again, petting him all over. “You’re skin hungry,” she noted, kissing his cheekbone. “Unusually so. Do you not get hugs from anyone?”

“I don’t really have anyone to get… physical touch from,” Flynn admitted.

“Then I prescribe one hug a day,” Lucy replied. She pet through his hair, her mouth idly pressing kisses along the collar. She seemed to really like how it looked on him, which was good because Flynn desperately wanted to wear it every time now. “Find someone.”

“Doctor’s orders?” he asked dryly.

“Domme’s orders,” she replied.

Oh fuck, that made his mouth dry all over again.

“Ma’am,” he asked, his voice rough. “Derica.”

“Ooh, the first name, this is serious.” Lucy looked up at him with her chocolate rich eyes. “Do you need something? Some kind of aftercare I’m not giving?”

“No, no, you are, I just—you know you don’t—you don’t have to. Ah. You don’t have to be any more intimate with me than you’re comfortable with. I know some people might—some clients might expect a lot from you and I just wanted you to understand… that with me I’m just… happy with whatever you want to give.”

Ironic of him to say that as his hands roamed her skin, starving, leeching the warmth and life from her.

Lucy smiled at him like he’d said the most amusing thing in the world. “Let me make something very clear, Mr. Thompkins.”

She slid her hand down her body. “This? Is mine. I do with it what I want. And nothing happens to it that I don’t want to happen to it.”

She put her hand low on his stomach. “In this room? This is mine too.” Her hand slid up his chest. “Every… last… inch.”

Her fingers reached the collar and she tugged on it, making Flynn’s breath go short.

“Nothing that happens in here is against what I want. This is all mine. And I do what I please with it. And if it pleases me to fuck you, or to blow you, or to collar you, then that’s what I will do.” She paused. “Unless you tell me it’s a limit of yours. Do you not want me to fuck you anymore?”

“No,” Flynn blurted out. “God no—I mean—ah.” He scrubbed at his face. “Could I have possibly sounded more desperate there?”

“I like when you’re desperate. If it’s for me.” Lucy pulled his hand away from his face so that she could look into his eyes again, placing his hand on the small of her back, encouraging him to keep touching her. “So, do we understand each other? This is consensual. I won’t have you thinking I’m some… martyr for the cause of serving my clients.”

 _I won’t have you thinking I’m some martyr for our cause_. Flynn heard the double meaning in her words clear as day.

He nodded. So, she liked fucking him.

It felt like a kind of twisted victory, and he loved it, and hated that he loved it.

“Now, will it be your usual reward today?” Lucy asked.

Oh, fuck, he’d forgotten about that. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

Lucy’s smile was like quicksilver, and then he couldn’t see it anymore because she was kissing him.

 

* * *

 

Lucy knew she shouldn’t be kissing him for so long, but God, the man knew what he was doing. And he was still so touch starved, his hands shaking as he touched her—clung to her, really—melting into her hands as she ran them over him.

It had been so goddamn hot to watch him, to grind in his lap at just the right angle that rubbed against her clit, sending fireworks off in her blood. It had also allowed her to slide the flash drive into his pocket, which she personally thought was a nice little bit of espionage. But it had also been selfish because she’d wanted to have his hands on her, his mouth on her, and oh Lord had the man delivered in spades.

Her ass was going to be a bit sore, and there was a distinctive bite mark on her breast now, but she gave absolutely zero fucks. She’d come so hard it had slid all the way down her legs.

She kissed him again, and then again, shuddering a little as he got bold and slid his tongue into her mouth, twining it with hers. Lucy pushed up, giving him her neck, and Flynn obligingly kissed along that as well, sucking a bit, already figuring out she liked teeth.

“And you like the collar?” she double checked, finally pulling back and running her finger over the choker. “I thought it would be a good introduction to the breath play.”

Flynn nodded. “Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am.”

Oh Lord he really needed to stop that or she was going to fuck him all over again. “Good. If I were to start crossing over your soft limits, would that be all right? They were pegging and choking, if I remember correctly. Am I forgetting anything?”

Flynn shook his head. “No, that’s correct. And—and yes, please, you can do those.”

“And why can I do those? We use our words around here.”

“Because I trust you.”

She stroked her fingers along his cheek. “Good. I’d like to go longer with the orgasm delay, when we do it, and I’d like to try binding your feet as well, if that’s all right. Are you okay with those?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you feel about forced orgasms?”

“Same as the other soft limits, I need to trust the person. I… I tend to… sometimes I say, things, that I don’t mean, when I do that. And I need the person to know that I’ll remember my safe word, and that if I really do want things to stop I’ll use it, and otherwise to just ignore whatever I say.”

“Ah, the safe word.” She was going to get him for that at some point. “So I can trust you—because if I hear stop or no, and later on you tell me you meant it but you didn’t safe word out, that will be a major problem.”

“Whatever I might say, I don’t mean it, if I safe word, then I mean it.” She could see Flynn working to try and articulate whatever was coming next. “My previous… partners, they sort of. I wasn’t always good. About telling them when I’d had enough. I wanted to please them and so I pushed myself beyond my limits, beyond what was good for me. It led to some, ah. Some bad situations. I’ve learned since then. I know I’ll use my word if I have to. I know what my limits are and I won’t push past them.”

“And what if I see what your limits are and I stop the scene, and you disagree with me? What if you think you could’ve gone farther?”

Flynn swallowed. “I—”

“My job is to take care of you,” she reminded him. If they were really going to start with the activities that required more trust, if they were going to do things like choking where she literally had his life in her hands, things like forced orgasms where pain and pleasure started to mingle and she could hurt him if she wasn’t careful—if they were going to do this, then she had to be certain that he wouldn’t get pissed if she stopped things. She wasn’t going to risk Flynn’s mental or physical health, even if he was really in the mood to get punished. “And I will take care of you, whether you like it or not. So I suggest you learn to like it.”

Flynn looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “If you stop before I think—even if I want to keep going, then—then I’ll trust you.”

“Good.”

She kissed him one last time, just a soft peck on the lips. Then she got up, passing him a water bottle and putting her clothes back on. “Drink that.”

Flynn obediently downed the water as she got tissues to clean him up, although, well, his pants would need to be dry cleaned. Hopefully Denise didn’t ask too many questions. She took the choker off last, and then put it back on herself. It was warm from his skin.

“Same time next week?” she asked.

Flynn gave her one of his soft smiles, like the kind he’d given her after he’d joked that she was a ‘gentle and responsive lover’. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy winked at him and walked out.

 

* * *

 

Flynn hadn’t even felt her sliding the flash drive into his pocket, although he felt it when he put his pants back on and noticed the slight weight, felt the slim device when he slid his hand into his pocket.

She was getting good at this.

He made a detour at a laundry mat—yes it was bad for the suit but his dignity was already in the toilet so he had to salvage what he could—so that he looked a bit more presentable when he got back to the bunker.

“Do you have it?” Denise asked. The rest of the team was busy packing up their shit in preparation for the move to the new safe house. Potential double agent or not, Jess was going to have to give up the bunker location eventually and they had to be long gone when she did.

Flynn held up the flash drive. “It’s all here.”

They plugged it in, and read up on Lucy’s report.

“Laxatives,” Denise said flatly.

Apparently Lucy had basically poisoned one girl (she’d been in the bathroom for hours, according to Lucy’s report) and had stolen the girl’s Rittenhouse clients by stepping in for her and wowing them, and she was now planning to get another girl’s entire roster of clients permanently by setting her up to be fired.

“It’s clever,” Denise said, finishing the report. “She’s making friends, eliminating competition, building her client list subtly. Soon she’ll have just you and Rittenhouse men on her roster and can focus purely on getting information and the videos.”

“What about…” Flynn cleared his throat. “The videos of us.”

Denise raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”

“It wouldn’t look good for your star witness to be having sessions with a known terrorist.”

“I’m working on clearing you of charges,” Denise replied bluntly.

Flynn blinked. “What?”

“I can’t do that until we have Rittenhouse exposed, so I wasn’t going to say anything since there’s not really a chance of it happening any time soon. But it is in the works. So if those videos do surface, it will be known that you and Lucy are merely acting out what you have to in order to exchange information.”

Ah. Right. About that.

“However,” Denise continued, “if it bothers you that much, I can talk to Rufus and we’ll see about him passing Lucy a virus or Trojan of some kind on the flash drive so she can wipe your videos from the database.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

Denise nodded. “I’m glad to see you’re finally getting some sleep. You look better rested.”

She got up, but Flynn read over Lucy’s report again.

Sure, laxatives were amusing. But also… kind of ruthless. And getting a coworker fired, even if that coworker could be said to deserve it… Lucy’s report detailed her taking Stacy out to lunch, going to bar nights with her coworkers and pumping them for information, befriending them.

He had never wanted Lucy to become a spy or a soldier. To have to manipulate people like this, to have to live a lie, to have to hurt people to succeed. When he’d met her in São Paulo she’d been so… broken. She’d been like him, the veteran of a war, a person who’d lost the people who meant the most to her.

 _When you meet me,_ she’d told him, _when you meet her, she won’t understand. She won’t accept it, for a long time. She’s not… she won’t have seen what we’ve seen. She’s still innocent._

He’d never said it to that Lucy, the Lucy who’d given him the journal and a reason to live, but he had privately promised that he’d keep his hands dirty so that Lucy wouldn’t have to. He’d tried to recruit her to his side, yes, but he had never wanted her to become like him. To have that darkness in her, those sharp edges, that brittle soul.

And he knew, as he’d told Wyatt, that Lucy wasn’t some shrinking violet. She’d spent six weeks with Rittenhouse and it had stolen so much from her, just in that short time. He could still hear her in the alley, _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t_ , sobbing for her mother, for Rufus, for herself.

But God, if he could just keep her from more of it, if he could just keep her from sliding further into that shadow world…

He’d do whatever it took.

All this time he’d been freaking out about the sex aspect of this mission and he hadn’t been focused on the real danger—the danger to Lucy’s sense of self, her morality, her soul.

Well, she was in D.C…

He knew some people from there. A quick Google search confirmed—his old therapist was still in Washington.

He added the information to the flash drive. The _For Lucy_ folder, he’d noted, had been taken off the drive—he hoped it was so that Denise wouldn’t notice and ask questions about Flynn’s professionalism, and not because Lucy had considered it overstepping. He created a new folder labeled _If You Need It_ and put in the information for his old therapist.

_Tell her the Flynns sent you._

He and Lorena had moved out of D.C. before Iris was born, so he didn’t think word would have reached the regular people that Lorena was dead and Flynn himself was a wanted terrorist. His old NSA friends definitely knew, without a doubt, but his therapist? He doubted it.

There. It wasn’t all that he wanted to do, but it was all that he could do for now.

He hoped Lucy would take advantage of it.

 

* * *

 

Lucy took a few deep breaths. If she succeeded in this, she’d have two new Rittenhouse men on her roster. If she failed, she’d probably be fired.

Melissa entered the employee room. “Ugh, they’re exhausting,” she declared, heading for the coffee maker.

Paul, who was sitting at the table eating lunch and reading up on his homework (he was trying to get his master’s degree in political science, to which Lucy said good fucking luck), rolled his eyes at Lucy conspiratorially. Lucy grinned at him.

Then, when Paul went back to his lunch, Lucy walked over to Melissa. She timed it just as Melissa was turning with a mug she was going to fill with coffee—and Lucy bumped into her.

“Oh my God, sorry!” she said, her hand slipping into the pocket of Melissa’s silk robe.

They all had key cards programmed to their rooms so that no client could go wandering off and there wouldn’t be any mix ups. Lucy slipped the key card out of Melissa’s pocket and into her own.

Thanks, Houdini.

Then she gave Melissa a winning smile. “Enjoy your coffee!”

She slipped out of the break room and hurried down the hall, teasing her hair and stripping off her jacket to reveal the bra underneath.

Sliding the keycard into the lock of the proper door, she stepped into the room, shucking her sweats as she did so and dropping it all in a pile.

The client was still lying on the bed, rubbing at his wrists. Lucy took another deep breath and shoved her nerves aside. This was taking care of someone. She knew how to do this.

“Stop that,” she ordered.

The man stopped, looking up at her in confusion. His eyes were still a little hazy, glazed from the session.

That wasn’t good. Lucy could hear Sara in her memory telling her, _you stay with them until they’re clear. If you can look in their eyes and see the back of their head, it’s still not good enough._

She sauntered over, barefoot for once but walking like she was in four-inch heels. Long neck, chin up, think, ‘murder’.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, understandably.

“I'm Derica. I’m here to take care of you,” she replied. She took his wrists in her hands and massaged them gently. “You were very good today,” she praised. “Have you had anything to drink yet?”

“No.”

“No, ma’am. We’re polite around here.”

“No, ma’am.”

Lucy nodded, grabbing a bottle of water from one of the dresser drawers. “Here.”

She helped him to sit up, braced on the pillows, and then assisted him in drinking the bottle until it was all gone. “Would you like some music? It’s okay to say no.”

“No, ma’am.”

“All right. A massage, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, please, ma’am.” Some men really did need quite a lot of training.

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

“Very good. You’re a fast learner. Turn over.”

He did so and Lucy got onto her knees on the side, working out the kinks in his back. She glanced at the clock. She figured she had about, oh, ten minutes before Candace barged in. Just enough time.

“How was your day?” Lucy asked. “Lots of knots here… was work stressful?”

“You have no idea,” the guy muttered. “We got a new boss and she’s been running us all ragged.”

Emma. Lucy swallowed, keeping her cool. Focus on the knots, on listening, be a good domme. “That’s always difficult. Surely she appreciates how hard you work.”

The guy rambled, and Lucy kept an eye on the clock. After five minutes, she stopped. “All right, how do you feel?”

“Much better.”

“Good. You were very good today, that deserves a reward. I’m going to set an alarm, now, and you can sleep for twenty minutes, and then the alarm will go off and you can collect your things and leave. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

“See? Such a quick learner.” She patted his cheek. “I hope you have a good week.”

Then she set the alarm and got the hell out of there.

Lucy didn’t even get out of the hallway before Candace was walking toward her. “Miss Wallace. What exactly is that meaning of that.”

“I’m sorry, Madam.”

“No 'I’m sorry', I want an explanation.”

“Well, I hope you don’t mind…” Lucy stood her ground but tried to look meek. “…but I noticed that Melissa wasn’t providing aftercare. Her clients were just as wound up when they left as when they came in. They might think that they’re being taken care of, but if you’re taking up to that place, you have to be taken back down, too. Getting up the mountain’s only half of it.”

“Then you should have come to me,” Candace said.

“With all due respect, madam, I’m not a tattletale. I assumed you knew, since it’s all being recorded. And I just couldn’t help myself. The poor man responded so well to me, he clearly needed it.” Lucy pictured Amy’s face, pictured Rufus being shot, her mother’s dying words, and felt tears start to come into her eyes. “I do this job to help people, and it just hurts to think that these people aren’t getting what they need. I thought, well, you might be okay with it but I’m not. I didn’t think anyone would notice, honest, I didn’t think anyone would watch the video once Melissa left. After all what can the client do all alone in the room?”

“Quite a lot. You’d be surprised,” Candace said grimly. “Well. Next time, you come to me. I’ll have a word with our technicians about reporting that kind of lax care in the future. We want to provide proper scenes for our clients.” She eyed her. “That showed real initiative.”

“I just wanted to help him.”

“Oh, don’t cry dear, for goodness’ sake. I’m not going to fire you.”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“And no apologies. Just—” Candace sighed. “I understand if you are still new here and don’t quite trust me, if you think that I approve of Melissa’s behavior. But I don’t, and in the future I would appreciate you coming to me. Your initiative is appreciated but I’d like you to remember that I am the boss here. Do we understand each other?”

Lucy nodded. “Yes, Madam Candace.”

“Very well. I shall speak with Melissa.”

Candace walked off to the break room, and Lucy struggled to keep the smile off her face as she walked out to the lobby.

The next day, she got a call from Stacy. “Candace says that Melissa’s client, the one you did aftercare for yesterday, he wants an appointment with you. He told his buddy, Melissa’s other client about you too, he wants an appointment as well. We’ll have to bump some others off your roster, though.”

Lucy gave her the names of two non-Rittenhouse clients on her roster. “You can take them away from me.”

“Great.” Stacy lowered her voice. “Smooth move, there, that was pretty bold.”

“Melissa was out of line, that’s all,” Lucy replied.

“Well, I’ll see you later. Have a great day!” Stacy hung up.

Lucy’s legs gave out and she sank back onto her couch, grinning at the ceiling.

She had all the Rittenhouse men.

Fuck, yes.

 

* * *

 

“Flynn!”

Flynn paused, his hand on the handle to his bedroom door, and held in a sigh. He turned around, pasting what he hoped was a calm smile onto his face. “Wyatt.”

“Hey.” Wyatt paused, shuffling his feet. “Look, man, I just—I wanted to—I’m sorry.”

Flynn raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Wyatt shrugged. “I just… I’ve been, um, doing research. Y’know? About this shit. And it’s a lot more than I thought it was and it’s not just… I’m sorry, that’s all. I was a dick. This has to be a hard mission for you and I was just worried about Lucy and I was being selfish.”

“Thank you?” Flynn was still wondering if he was about to see a pig fly by. “But I think it’s harder for Lucy than it is for me.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. You and I both know why it’s difficult for you. I mean I’m sure Lucy’s got her own problems with it but I read some articles and—and it’s like you go into a different headspace, y’know, and so I think it’s okay for her, like you don’t—I’d be shit at explaining it. But Flynn. I mean. Really.”

“I’m not sure that I follow.”

Wyatt lowered his voice. “It’s hard for you the same way it’d be hard for me. Doing this. With Lucy.”

…oh.

“Look, Wyatt, could we not—”

“I just—I just wanted to say that I understand, and I’m sorry, and it sucks, and that—that I’m glad if she has to do this that you’re the one who’s kind of looking after her because I know you’ll try and keep her safe because I’d try and keep her safe. Y’know?”

Flynn did know. Wyatt drove him absolutely fucking nuts but when it came to keeping Lucy alive and safe, he trusted him, because Wyatt loved Lucy, and that had to be good for that if nothing else.

“So thanks. For keeping her safe. And I’m sorry I was a dick.”

“Thank you. But if we could never mention that… that particular similarity between us regarding Lucy ever again I’d—”

The bunker alarm went off.

Rufus stuck his head into the hallway. “Berlin, 1967!”

During the Cold War, when the wall was up. Fuck. “We’re on our way.”

Looked like this would have to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Flynn didn’t show up to his appointment.

Lucy waited. She waited, and waited, and waited, until Stacy went into the break room.

“We got a call,” she said. “Mr. Thompkins cancelled, said he’s out of town on business, but he’ll be here next week.”

Lucy’s blood went cold. “Was it really him?” she asked, trying to keep herself from showing the alarm she felt.

“You can’t fake that accent. Or at least, nobody I know can fake it. Stuff happens, Derica.” Stacy smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s fine. Don’t take it personal, y’know? C’mon let’s get some frozen yogurt before your next appointment, that always cheers me up!”

Lucy, however, was not cheered up, although she pretended to be.

Why had Flynn canceled? Was everything okay? Were they on the run? Had they lost someone again?

Was—oh, no, God no, was Flynn—what if he was—

She waited in agony all week for Denise to call, or even show up in person, to tell her that Flynn was…

She couldn’t even voice the fear.

So she focused on her work. It took her out of her head, if nothing else. She had her spying to focus on, and her clients. She was starting to win over their trust, getting them to talk about things. The one guy bitched about Emma a lot, clearly some latent misogyny there although he claimed it had nothing to do with her gender.

Yes, men could want to be submissive to a woman in the bedroom and still misogynistic. No, she didn’t understand it either.

But she listened to their woes after their sessions, and even introduced some exercises into their scenes, like, “tell me about your week while I do xyz to you, to help you focus,” or, “every time you tell me about something that stresses you out, you get rewarded.” She was aware this was a slightly unconventional form of therapy, essentially, but it was getting her a shit ton of wonderful information so who cared?

For example, she was learning that Emma was initiating a two-pronged attack. The men couldn’t just straight up say, ‘hey my boss is taking the sleeper agent idea to the next level by having it be kids we send back in time’ but Lucy could read between the lines. The other part was something about ‘improving company PR’, which led Lucy to believe that Emma was intending to, of all things, go public with Rittenhouse.

It made sense, given the current political climate. But that might also work to her advantage, too. Can’t go public with a group when a large number of the men involved were exposed as kinky (and not always straight) BDSM role players.

That was what she needed to focus on. Taking down Rittenhouse. Not—not on her fears.

No matter how strong those fears might be.

She just wished that there was a way that she could call. Perhaps she could use the lobby phone to call Flynn (or rather the bunker) back? But Stacy was always at the reception desk and Lucy couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to borrow the phone—and why would Stacy leave her unattended there? She’d overhear the conversation.

There was nothing to do but wait.

And wait.

And wait.

 

* * *

 

God, his head hurt.

“You fucking idiot,” someone said, and the world staggered. “Rufus would it kill you to help me lift him?”

“I’m trying! He’s heavy!”

“Oh my God.”

“What the hell happened?”

What day was it? “Lucy…”

“She’s not here, Garcia,” someone said. Someone young, a girl. Why couldn’t he get his eyes to work?

“He means the appointment. It’s tomorrow.”

“We’ll get him on painkillers and have him call tomorrow to cancel, then.” Denise. In charge. Boss.

He couldn’t think in full sentences anymore. That wasn’t… that wasn’t a good thing.

“He’s tipping, Rufus, Christ you gotta help me hold him!”

Everything went black.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, it was to someone humming tunelessly.

Flynn turned his head to the side, groaning at the light. “What…”

“And he returns to the land of the living.” Jiya smiled down at him, but her eyes were dark and worried. “It was touch and go for a bit there. Maybe next time don’t block the bullet with your body?”

“Maybe next time we don’t go into the middle of the Cold War front lines.”

Jiya sighed, taking his hand and squeezing. “Hey. We were really worried, all of us. Rufus and Wyatt had to carry your sorry ass in here so you’re going to repay them by resting and getting better, okay?”

“How long have I been out?”

“Not too long? About ten hours. The bullet missed anything too bad, it just bled a fuck ton. Denise says you should be good to check on Lucy next week.”

Next week. _Next_ week… He started to sit up. “Did I miss it? The appointment, I have—”

“Whoa, there.” Jiya grabbed Flynn by the shoulders and shoved him back down onto the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, Romeo. It’s one in the morning, you’ll call the club in a few hours, cancel your appointment, and then go in next week, okay?”

“But we can’t—Lucy—”

“Lucy will be fine. She’s doing great, okay?”

“I have to see her.” Fear, concern, bubbled up in his chest until he thought he would choke on it. It was like there was a hole in his lungs, filling them with liquid, and he couldn’t draw a proper breath.

“You’ll see her next week when you don’t look like shit. I don’t know what she does to you in those sessions but even just raising your arms above your head to get tied down will pull at the stitches. You need a week. You need more than a week, actually, but we can’t go that long without checking in on Lucy so, be grateful Denise isn’t benching you for longer, okay?”

Jiya’s lips trembled, her eyes wet, and Flynn realized belatedly the raw, ragged edge in her voice. “Jiya?”

She sniffled, and then bent down and carefully hugged him. “You really scared us,” she admitted. “Even Wyatt. We were all really, really scared. The boys came back and were just… covered all over in your blood and it looked… it looked really, really bad.”

He managed to bring his arm up to awkwardly hug her back. “I’m sorry I scared you.” Then he realized what she was doing and he laughed weakly.

“What?” Jiya pulled back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing. It’s just—Lucy told me I was touch starved and prescribed me a hug a day. Looks like you just gave me one.”

“Tell her I’ll give you a hug a day,” Jiya declared. “Unless you want Rufus to.”

“Ah. I think Rufus and I are fine with. Fist bumping or whatever it is.”

Jiya hugged him again. “I told you, you don’t get a choice in this friendship thing, Garcia Flynn. That means you gotta come back to us in one piece.”

“I’ll try,” he said dryly.

“Besides.” Jiya pulled back. “Lucy would be pissed if you died. Who else is she gonna spank?”

Flynn just about choked. “Very funny.”

“Just get better, okay? Or I’ll make Rufus rap for you.”

“Oh no,” Flynn said in a monotone. “Not that, I beg of you.”

“He’s actually pretty good at it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jiya grinned at him, and dammit, Flynn was going to have to tell Lucy that the hugs had helped.

 

* * *

 

Lucy put on her suit—a pair of black lace panties and bra that were connected by lace straps, crisscrossing over her torso. It was a bit more provocative and severe than her usual look, exposing her skin but not soft in style.

She then slipped a black silk robe on over it. No heels this time. She did her hair up, out of the way, and did her makeup a bit more dramatically, with winged eyeliner and everything.

If Flynn showed up—and she prayed that he did—he better be in for a hell of a session.

She was well aware that this was her armor. She was doing this to keep herself feeling in control and safe. She had no idea what was coming up this session, if it would even be Flynn. It might be Wyatt, or Mason, or even Rufus or Jiya, coming in to give her the news, standing in at the last moment. It could be Denise coming to extract her. It could be no one, and she’d just have to go this alone from now on.

But she looked nothing short of fabulous when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked in control. Commanding. But relaxed, like it was effortless.

She had her armor, if nothing else.

Usually, the client went into the room first, and then she would enter in afterwards. Then she’d leave at the end, and the client would have a few minutes to gather themselves and then leave. It put the power in her hands.

But today, she waited in the room. She sat on the bed, facing away from the door, and idly played with one of the silk ties, knotting and unknotting it, running it over her fingers. It soothed her, gave her something to do while her stomach twisted and turned over.

The door opened, and someone stepped in.

 _Flynn_. She knew it from the sound of his feet on the floor. And how she could tell it was him by the sound of him walking—she wasn’t going to think about that right now. Not when she was sitting up and turning to look at him and see—

He looked fine, at first glance. He wasn’t wearing a full suit this time, though. Just the pants and a button-up shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. There was a stiffness to him, a careful set to his shoulders, and slight circles under his eyes. He hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep, or at least, not good sleep.

Lucy swallowed. “You’re here. What a shocking turn of events.”

Flynn looked abashed, at least. “I was out of town on business and was… unavoidably delayed.”

“Yes, Stacy informed me.” She stood up, setting the ties aside and walking over to him, maintaining a few feet of distance. “What happened.”

Flynn’s eyebrows rose, as if to ask her if she was serious. He couldn’t tell her really what had happened, and they both knew it.

“You look stressed,” she explained. “More than usual. You’re stiff. Did you do what I told you?”

“I have a friend who has made it her job to give me daily hugs,” Flynn said dryly.

Jiya. It had to be. That sounded like something that Jiya would do.

“And yet.” Lucy raised an eyebrow, then twirled her finger in a circular motion.

Flynn turned around for her. Hmm. He wasn’t favoring one of his legs over the other, but one arm seemed to be held a little more stiffly than the other…

“Strip,” she told him, then turned away and walked over to the bed, securing the ties. Then she walked over to the dresser and pulled out one of the drawers. She found the toy she wanted and turned—

And inhaled sharply.

There were fresh stitches in Flynn’s chest, still slightly-raw scarring—tight, raised bumps of pink skin that hadn’t been there two weeks ago.

_No._

That was why he hadn’t been here? Because he’d been injured?

She pursed her lips together, struggling to breathe, to hold in the terror seizing at her heart. It felt like ice was slowly filling her, from her feet up through her spine. Flynn was fine, he was standing right in front of her, but he hadn’t been fine. He’d had to miss their appointment to recover and she hadn’t been there—he could’ve died and she wouldn’t have been there—she wouldn’t have been able to help him or to say goodbye…

Lucy swallowed. “Get on the bed,” she ordered.

Flynn blinked at her, and she knew that he’d heard the edge in her voice. He went over and got onto the bed.

Lucy undid her robe, letting it fall. The look on Flynn’s face was… gratifying, to say the least.

“Hands above your head.”

Flynn did as he was told, but he had a look in his eyes that was simultaneously challenging and guarded. He had to know that he was in trouble.

Lucy tied his hands down. “What happened to audience participation?” he murmured.

“That was before you went and got yourself shot,” Lucy whispered fiercely.

Flynn’s eyes went soft. “L—Derica—”

“I think it’s about time you learned what punishment means when I’m in charge,” Lucy told him, pulling away.

Flynn looked incredibly frustrated, his jaw tightening, his wrists tugging at the ties. “And what did you have in mind?” he asked, a bit of sass still lingering in his voice.

Lucy pulled his legs apart and tied them down, one ankle to each bedpost, and had him test the pull. Flynn looked less than happy with the arrangement—not like he didn’t want to be tied down, but like he wanted to reach out and touch her, comfort her somehow, and couldn’t. “Are you all right with these?” she asked. No matter how pissed at him she was, she wasn’t going to send him into a panic or cross his boundaries.

Flynn nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes _what_ ,” she said, surprising herself with the sharpness of her tone.

Flynn’s eyes went wide as he seemed to finally realize just how pissed off she was. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy went and got the toy she’d pulled out—a vibrating cock ring. She set it aside on the bed, within easy reach. She wanted to ask him about the scar, about why he’d missed a session, but she couldn’t do that right now. Afterwards, when she was caring for him, that was generally when her clients chatted with her and she could ask him what the _hell_ he’d done to get himself shot. Should he even be here with her? Was he even in any proper condition for sex?

Well. She had him tied down for a reason. That way he couldn’t thrash or pull at his stitches too roughly.

So there.

She reached up, pretending to test the holds on his wrists, her mouth by his ear. “You scared me,” she whispered fiercely. “No explanation, nothing from you or Denise or anyone else. You tell her, I deserve better next time. Understood?”

Lucy could hear him swallowing. “Yes, ma’am.”

She sat up again and moved down the bed. Then she raised her voice. “You missed our appointment. That means you owe me a few things that you missed last time.”

She trailed her hand down his chest. His living, breathing, warm chest. Lucy mentally shook herself. Focus. “Safe word?”

“Hindenburg.”

“You need it, you use it. Otherwise? I’m taking what I’m owed.”

Flynn’s gaze met hers, the challenge in it clear: she could take whatever she wanted, and he was prepared to give it to her.

Well, she’d see about that.

She braced her hands on his thighs and took his cock in her mouth, swallowing him down.

Flynn grunted in surprise, his head falling back. “I thought—thought there’d be a little while before the main event.”

She slid off his cock with a lewd _pop_. “This isn’t the main event. This is round one.”

Then she got back to work.

She knew, without looking at him, that Flynn had figured out what she meant and what she had planned. Lucy relaxed her throat, taking him all the way down until she really had to tighten up her stomach and breathe through her nose, pulling up until she could swirl her tongue around the head before going down again.

Back in college, she’d had this one regular who, after some training (and after she’d asked Lucy quite a few times), had been able to come ten times in a session. But that had been a woman, and that had taken weeks of patiently coaxing her body into it.

Lucy figured, she’d start Flynn off with three. One for this session, one for missing last session, and one more because he’d went and gotten himself fucking _shot_ and she was spitting mad about it.

Flynn grew more and more tense underneath her, shaking a little as he tried not to jerk his hips up into her mouth. Lucy used every goddamn trick she knew, until her jaw was aching, until Flynn came with a groan and she nearly choked.

She grinned in feral satisfaction as she felt the tension draining out of Flynn’s muscles, as his breathing changed from labored to deep and even.

But he wasn’t quite relaxed enough, yet. And she wasn’t finished with him. He was finished when she said he was finished, damn it.

Lucy looked Flynn in the eye. “One,” she said lightly, and grabbed the cock ring.

This would be fun.

 

* * *

 

Flynn could tell from the start that Lucy was upset, but it wasn’t until she’d really gotten started that he’d realized just how furious she was.

He was in for it, big time.

The blowjob she’d just given him had been ferocious, draining him, taking absolutely no quarter. His skin was fucking buzzing from it.

And he knew that this was just the beginning.

The thing with multiple orgasms and forced orgasms was… it required a fuck ton of trust. The body and the brain were being overwhelmed, and that led to babbling. Especially babbling that might lead to bad consequences if the right trust hadn’t been established.

Just like when asked to do ten more push-ups by a personal trainer, a sub might respond with _I can’t_ or _no_ or _stop_ when told to come one more time. It was instinct, and Flynn never really meant it. That was what his safe word was for, to let Lucy know when he really did want her to stop—and in that case, she would stop immediately.

But it was Lucy’s job to know what Flynn needed, to be able to read his body and know when he said _don’t_ but actually could and would, and when he said _yes give it to me_ and she saw that he actually couldn’t and shouldn’t. It was her job to push him just enough to leave him truly satisfied at the end, and not to take it too far.

It was his job to trust her with that. And her job to trust him to safe word if he had to.

Flynn hadn’t expected her to do something like this while she was pissed off, but if she was, then he trusted that she wasn’t going to let her anger push her out of the zone and into dangerous mental territory.

He trusted her not to take this too far.

Lucy spread her legs, sliding her hand between them, one finger rubbing herself through the lace of her underwear. He’d give anything to be able to touch her like he had last week, to kiss her, to see her hair down, but he was well aware that none of that was happening this week. This week was about being punished, not rewarded.

“I could’ve left you without coming even once,” Lucy pointed out, a tiny sigh escaping her as she rubbed fierce little circles over her clit. “I could’ve—kept you right on the edge and just left you hanging. But I don’t think that’s what you need. And I like making you come for me.”

She tilted her face down, her eyes dark and savage, boring into him. “Just for me, am I right?”

Jesus Christ. “You’re right, ma’am.” Everything, the whole reason he even stayed in the damn bunker instead of trying to take Rittenhouse on his own again, was for her.

Lucy looked inordinately pleased at that, and then pushed her underwear aside, sliding two fingers into herself. Her hips stuttered and her face went slack as she came, but she kept stroking her fingers in and out, scissoring them, opening herself.

Then she slid the cock ring and condom on—he shuddered instinctively, just that simple touch a little too much against his sensitive skin—and then she was guiding him into her.

A groan was strangled at the back of his throat. Just the simple, warm clench of her around his cock was almost too much. He was in his forties, for crying out loud, he needed time, but that was the point—the point was that he didn’t get time, not today.

Lucy gasped as she settled fully onto him, shifting, adjusting. She ran her hands over his chest, making that pleased, almost purring noise in the back of her throat. Flynn struggled to breathe deeply and evenly, trying not to move. Although whether it would’ve been to thrust up into her or to move away from the knife’s edge of sensation, he didn’t know.

Then Lucy braced herself and started moving.

The sound that tore out of his throat was unplanned, and he would’ve been embarrassed by it if he’d been capable of embarrassment at this point. He was quickly going hard again inside of her. Lucy’s pace was relentless and she was taking him in all the way, swiveling her hips, and it was too much, it was— _fuck_ —but his body was responding because of course it was and she looked so goddamn gorgeous like this and it felt good, it felt really fucking good but also more, little shivers of almost-not-quite-pain running up and down his spine—

Flynn groaned, his legs staining, unable to draw them in on himself the way that he instinctively wanted to. His chest heaved and he was starting to pant, unable to properly breathe as wave after wave was starting to hit him.

“Good,” Lucy ordered, her voice a little breathy but her tone unyielding. “I want to hear you, come on, talk to me.”

“Fuck,” Flynn spat out.

Lucy laughed, her head falling back, exposing the long line of her throat. “Yes, just like that, come on…”

He wanted to say her name and just barely swallowed it back in time. “I want—fuck, it’s too—it’s too much—”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not, you’re okay, you can do this for me. Come on.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , it felt good, it felt too good, he was going to lose his mind. He was fully hard now and she wasn’t stopping, clenching around him even to make it even tighter, and his entire body jerked with a feeling not unlike an electric shock.

Lucy’s nails dug into his chest as she braced herself on him, her hips working hard and fast, sweat starting to slide down her body. She was nothing short of beautiful like this, and he wasn’t sure if watching her or feeling her was driving him crazier.

Then Lucy reached down and turned on the cock ring.

Vibrations shot through him and Flynn—he wasn’t sure if it was a yell or a scream or what the hell—made a noise, his hips bucking up and nearly dislodging Lucy despite the ties keeping him down. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , oh God oh fuck he had completely forgotten about that and now oh God it was too—it was so—oh holy fuck—

He came hard, feeling wrung out, but Lucy wasn’t stopping, she wasn’t stopping her movements or the vibrations she was still going and he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he had to—

He was babbling, he knew it, asking Lucy to stop, telling her that he couldn’t, please, it was too much, it was claws digging into him and raking through and leaving him raw and flayed and Lucy was wasn’t yielding, her gaze soft and dark but unrelenting, telling him he could, he would, one more time, just once more, to be good for her and that was right around the time he stopped speaking or even thinking in English.

Lucy’s tone shifted, gentled, and she shoved herself down onto him and it was finally too much and he could literally feel his eyes rolling back as everything went white and he came.

 

* * *

 

 Lucy honestly did worry a little that she was asking for too much.

But she had to trust, she had to trust that he’d say it, that he’d use the safe word if he really meant any of the things he was babbling at her.

The first time she’d pushed a sub and the sub had started to say don’t, stop, she’d panicked and had used the safe word herself, ending things.

“But I was fine,” the sub had told her afterwards. “I didn’t really mean it, it’s just stuff you say without thinking, just… y’know, on instinct.”

She’d gotten better since then, better at trusting her subs, better at helping along the ones who weren’t experienced in teaching them their limits, when to safe word out and how.

But she’d still worried, with Flynn.

He’d stopped English and hopped over to Croatian, and she’d started to really worry, switching her tone to one of praise, of encouragement. She shoved herself onto his cock, keeping him fully inside of her, and she felt him coming that last time, his entire body shuddering—and then he just about passed out.

Well, that was definitely not too surprising.

She switched off the cock ring and slid off him, cleaning him up and untying him, carefully massaging his ankles and wrists.

Flynn started to come to again as she fetched water and lay down at his side, petting up and down his sides and chest, running her hand through his hair. He curled into her, blinking slowly, his gaze going from glazed to sharp as he came back to himself.

“Don’t try to talk,” she warned him. She helped him sip slowly from the water, humming as she did so. She’d found that subs liked it when she sang or hummed, something about it soothing them. “You did really well. I’m really proud of you.”

She kept helping him drink and running her hands over him, occasionally kissing his temple. The scar, the stitches, stood out to her. Practically screamed at her. She wanted to know, she needed to know, what had happened.

She’d almost lost him and she hadn’t even been there. That just—that wasn’t okay. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t all right. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to Amy, and now the universe had almost been cruel enough to do it all over again with Flynn?

At last Flynn pushed the water bottle aside. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Did I safe word?”

“No, but you lost English.”

“Hindenburg isn’t an English word.”

“I have to be sure. It’s my job, in here, to take care of you.” She stroked the backs of her fingers along his cheek.

“I was all right. I am all right,” he promised her. “I needed that, and I think… you needed that too.”

Lucy swallowed. Yes, she had needed that.

“How did this happen?” she whispered, her finger trailing around the stitches.

She cupped his cheek, blocking his mouth from the view of the cameras. “Berlin, in the ‘60s, they were aiming for Rufus,” Flynn whispered. “Black guy in Cold War Germany, probably not the best decision.”

Lucy pulled back, swallowing. “You need to be more careful with yourself. There are ways to solve problems without being reckless.”

 _You’re not expendable_ , she wanted to scream. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t have an honest conversation with him, not with the cameras, not with it all being recorded.

“You’re—you’re in my care, now,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “And I know that I don’t have any control over you outside of this room but—but I’ll do what it takes to look after you in here, and I hope—I hope that you’ll at least think about looking after yourself better out there, because if you do, then it makes my job in here easier. Does that… that doesn’t make any kind of sense, does it.” She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, the sound tasting bitter in her mouth.

Flynn shook his head slightly. “No. It makes sense.”

She leaned down and kissed the stitches. Then kissed him on the mouth, softly.

“I thought I was being punished,” Flynn whispered.

“You were. Now you’re getting rewarded.”

“For what?”

“For making it back,” she said, and then she kissed him again. Because she could, damn it, and nobody could stop her.

 

* * *

 

Flynn’s fingers still felt clumsy, uncoordinated, but he did his best to reach up and cup Lucy’s cheek as she kissed him. She was lying half on top of him now, almost but not quite in his arms, and he wanted to fix that.

He worked his arm out from under her and reached it around, draping it over her back. Lucy hummed appreciatively. “What happened in Berlin?” she whispered.

“It’s on the drive,” Flynn whispered back. “In my pants’ pocket.”

Lucy hummed in acknowledgment and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Will you be careful? I know you don’t—I know that you’re used to being a soldier and I know that I don’t have a right to tell you how to live your life, and I know that you probably don’t care all that much about yourself but… but I care. So if you could…”

Flynn stroked up and down her back. It reminded him so painfully of Brazil.

He hadn’t told Lucy, or anyone, about all that had happened in São Paulo. About how the Lucy there had given him the journal. About how he’d followed her out of the bar, wanting more information. About how she had told him she couldn’t say more, about how she’d kissed him, about how they had gotten back to his seedy motel room and she’d fucked him like she’d known exactly how, how she’d taught him how to fuck her, how she’d tied him down and strung him out like she’d known it was what he needed.

Afterwards, she’d lain in his arms, just like this, and she’d trembled like a dock in a hurricane. And he’d known what it was she hadn’t been saying about him, about them.

That was why he’d trusted her. Because she’d loved him, been in love with him, and over the course of the night he’d started to fall in love with her.

That was why he’d believed her when she’d said he would take down Rittenhouse, that they’d be quite the team, that he was a hero, her hero.

It was why he’d risked it all. To save his family, his beautiful girls—and that included her. Lorena, and Iris, and Lucy.

He’d just known that with the things he was doing, he couldn’t go back to the first two. They wouldn’t understand, the man that they loved… he was gone, fading away with each dark step he took to eliminate Rittenhouse from this earth. But Lucy, she’d known. She’d understood. So he’d hoped…

And then he’d met her and she’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d had to adjust, to earn her trust, and he’d lowered his expectations. He’d fallen in love with her all over again and he’d adjusted to that too.

And now—now he had to adjust to this, as well. To sleeping with the woman he was in love with, who didn’t seem to love him, who was just starting to see him as a friend.

Except that right now she was telling him the same thing her other had. _Will you be careful? Garcia, promise me you’ll be careful._

He’d promised her other, and he would promise her. “I’ll try,” he said.

Lucy rested her forehead against his, her fingers splayed over his jaw. “I mean it. Don’t ever do that to me again. Don’t ever leave me hanging like that again.”

“I’ll talk to Denise. It won’t happen.”

She nodded, kissed him one last time, and got up. His limbs felt heavy, relaxed, but no longer like deadweight. He’d be able to get up after her in a minute.

“I’ll see you next week,” she told him, pulling on her robe, and then she was gone.

Just like in Brazil.

 

* * *

 

Stacy invited her out to the bar again with them that night. Lucy didn’t want to say yes but she had to and… she figured she probably should. She was… unsettled, after her session with Flynn. She’d been so goddamn worried about him, and even now that she’d made sure he was okay, she didn’t like that he was out of her sight again for a week. Away from even the ability to contact him.

The flash drive was safely in her pocket, but it seemed to burn a hole in it. She couldn’t stop thinking about Flynn underneath her, his arms around her, his promise to try and be safe.

It didn’t make for very good company, but she was trying to focus on what the others were saying. If she just went home she’d be in the apartment the whole time freaking out about it.

“So,” Maya said. “You’ve been rather quiet.”

Lucy jolted up from staring into her drink. “Oh. Ah, just tired.”

“Michael Thompkins wear you out that much?” Paul laughed.

Lucy forced a smirk onto her face and shrugged in a _wouldn’t you like to know_ way.

“He seems to like you,” Stacy said. “Told me to put in a tip for you because he missed last week.”

Denise was going to rake Flynn over the coals for that one. He must’ve had fun with that.

“He’s had nobody but her since he first came in,” Maya pointed out. “Don’t you want to take a day off? You’ve got a full roster and he’s… well. He’s a whole lot of something.”

Lucy was aware, as she had been in college, that there was a bit of competition over the good-looking clients. And she was well and intimately acquainted with just how good-looking Flynn was. To say the least.

Paul chuckled. “Hey, if he’s into men, I’ll take him too.”

Lucy’s stomach churned and she realized she was gripping her fork so hard it was starting to bend. “No,” she said, forcing her voice to stay light and even. “I think I’ll keep him. If he’s happy with my work then I see no reason to hand him off to someone else.”

She was pretty sure the _touch him and die_ undercurrent got across anyway, because Maya’s eyebrows climbed into her hairline and Paul looked like he’d swallowed a bug. Stacy took a quick sip of her drink to try and hide her amused smile, but she didn’t quite succeed.

“All right,” Maya said, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “If you say so.”

Lucy had never thought of herself as the jealous type. If someone wanted to try and flirt with her partner, then they were welcome to try. She trusted her romantic partners—Wyatt’s disastrous behavior after Jess came back notwithstanding—and she knew that if they cheated on her, there wasn’t anything she could’ve done to stop them, anyway. It was on them.

But this wasn’t a normal situation. She had power here, the power to pawn Flynn or any other client off onto another domme. Candace had made it clear that the employees had control and if they didn’t want to see a client, then they wouldn’t see that client. If they wanted to hold onto a client, generally, they were allowed to.

Maybe it was treating the clients a bit like objects but frankly Lucy didn’t care all that much except when it came to Flynn. She knew, somehow, that even if he was just a client, even if he wasn’t her partner in espionage, that he wouldn’t want to go to someone else. That it had to be her, it had to be someone he already knew and trusted.

She would never, ever violate that trust. Not after he’d supported her through the mess with Wyatt, not after he’d been encouraging her and protecting her for months on missions.

Although that… didn’t quite explain the snarling wolf instinct of _mine_ that surged up in her.

“I do say so,” Lucy replied.

Maya and Paul shrugged and went to get more drinks. Stacy leaned in. “Somebody’s jealous,” she said, her voice sing-song.

“Oh, hush.”

“No, I will not. You like him.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You’ve seen the man. I get off with him, I’m not giving that up.”

“You sure that’s all it is?” Stacy swirled her straw around. “Because you two sure get cuddly afterwards. And you just about lost your mind when he missed last week.”

She shrugged. “He has a dangerous job.” She wasn't... it was just sex. And he was her only tie to her real life, her real identity. Although she couldn't tell Stacy that part. It wasn't... what Stacy was insinuating, anyway.

Really.

Stacy snorted. “Yeah, I noticed on the video. Business meeting? Really? My money’s on CIA.”

Fuck. She had to hope Stacy wouldn't dig too much into that. “You think CIA men can afford to be clients at a club like this?”

“If they’re making bank on the side and a lot of them do. This town’s got more dirty people and dirty money than a drug den.” Stacy shrugged, signaling for another drink.

“Hey.” Lucy gave a casual smile. She had to get the conversation away from Flynn's occupation. “Speaking of the videos. I was wondering if I could be allowed to review my own? Just in the viewing room. For self-evaluation?”

“You self-evaluate?” Stacy gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “Let me guess, you were the teacher’s pet who reminded your professors that there was homework scheduled.”

“Um, maybe.” So what?

Stacy giggled. “All right. Yeah, sure, you just come in on one of your off days, I’ll set you up on a monitor and pull up your videos. Piece of cake.”

“Thanks, Stacy, you’re the best.” Lucy clinked her glass with Stacy’s. Next step, accomplished. Or as good as accomplished.

Those thoughts of Flynn and jealousy she could neatly compartmentalize and hide away to deal with later. Much later. Like, twenty years from now later.

“I have a call here?” the bartender said, phone in hand. “Call for a Miss Wallace? It’s from Austin Roe?”

Lucy’s blood ran cold with fear and worry. There was only one person who'd think to use that cover name.

Flynn.

 

* * *

 

Flynn was just hitting the city limits when he got the call from Denise.

“Ah, Agent Christopher. Did you need me to pick up groceries on the way?”

“Get back to Lucy, now.”

Flynn yanked the steering wheel to the side, cutting across about four lanes of traffic and speeding up to make the exit off the highway. “Why, what’s happened.”

“Emma’s in D.C., I just got a tip from a friend. I have reason to believe she’s meeting up with some of the other main Rittenhouse players.”

…oh fuck. If she showed them Lucy’s picture…

“Tell Lucy she has to call in sick to work for a few days. We’ll give her the all-clear when she’s safe.”

“Like hell.” Flynn took a sharp left, then another, getting back onto the highway heading in the opposite direction, towards the city again. “We need to extract her.”

“Absolutely not. If you were in her shoes you’d insist on staying. This is a possible danger, nothing more. If we pull her now and it turns out Emma didn’t know anything then we’ll lose our biggest lead yet and Lucy will never forgive us.”

Flynn swore—in Croatian so Denise couldn’t call him out on exactly what he was saying. She was right, and that was what bugged him. If he was in Lucy’s shoes he’d never agree to an extraction. And Lucy wanted Emma, and Rittenhouse, taken down more than anything. If they pulled her and she lost her chance… she might never forgive them.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get in touch with her and warn her. I’ll call you once I’m finished.”

“Good. Did you get the flash drive to her?”

“Yes, she has it.”

“Excellent. Then once Emma is gone, if the coast is clear we’ll start phase two.”

Flynn took a deep breath and terminated the call. Then he hit the gas.

He had to get to Lucy, fast.

 

* * *

 

He tracked Lucy down to the bar where she’d mentioned going out with her coworkers in her report. He could see her sitting there with Stacy and a couple of others, laughing.

She seemed to be having a good time.

Flynn walked around to the back and slipped in that way, then grabbed a wet floor sign when the bartender’s back was turned and placed it in front of the women’s restroom, slipping inside. He couldn’t see a lock—typical in multi-stall restrooms—so he put his weight up against the door to keep anyone from opening it and pulled out his cellphone. A quick google search found him the bar, including the phone number. He placed the call.

“Hi, this is Austin, Austin Roe, I’m trying to get into contact with a Miss Wallace? She should be at the bar with her work friends, she always goes there with them… I’m her next door neighbor, she’s not answering her phone, her dog got out—yes, I’ll hold, thank you.”

He heard the bartender calling for Lucy through the door, and then a moment later there was a hissed, “Austin Roe? Really?”

“Hey, you knew the name.”

“Of course I knew it. Is everything all right? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Come into the women’s restroom.”

There was a long pause, and then, “No. You aren’t.”

“Just get in here.” He hung up.

A few moments after that there was a knock at the door. He opened it and Lucy stepped in. He could see properly what she was wearing now, a dark blue silk button-up top and jeans, her hair down and loose. She looked… well. How she usually looked. “What the hell, Flynn? What are you doing here? This could blow everything!”

“Emma’s in D.C.”

Lucy froze. “She’s—she’s here?”

“Denise called. She wants you to call in sick and be ready for an extraction if Emma finds out who you are.”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “No, I’m not leaving. I have every single Rittenhouse guy on my roster, Flynn, and they’re giving me everything. I mean not everything, everything, but you know. Not all of them even know about the time travel, but you should hear the other stuff that the group’s been up to—”

Flynn reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, to steady her, but stopped himself. They weren’t doing a scene. He didn’t know what the rules were, now. Here. Out in the real world. “Lucy, if Emma shows any one of them a picture of you, they’ll tell her who you are and they will come after you. We can’t risk that.”

“We’re so close, Flynn. I can start getting the files soon, I’ve already asked Stacy if I can watch my videos.”

“This isn’t worth your life!”

“You don’t get to decide that!” Lucy hissed. Flynn noticed her hands were clenched into fists.

She looked away, her jaw working, her eyes glittering. “I’m topping men that I don’t give a shit about, men that I want to—I want to hurt, men that I want wiped off the face of this earth for what they’ve done to me and everyone else, for what they plan to do. They’re everything that I hate and I have to listen to their problems and help them relax and coax them into release like I actually give a damn. And I can shut it off, partially, I can go into that—that zone but it’s not easy and it’s so draining. It exhausts me.

“And I’m lying to these people, these good people who take me out to lunch and the bar, I put laxatives in a girl’s energy shake! And she was nice to me! Nothing but nice to me. Stacy’s probably going to get fired at the end of all this. She’ll give me access to the files and I’ll steal them and Madam Candace will find out and whoops, there goes Stacy for giving me access, bye bye.” Lucy gestured fruitlessly into the air, like she was showcasing a frustrating painting.

“If I’m doing this. If I’m lying to these people, if I’m hurting them, if I’m dealing with these disgusting white supremacist, one-percent, pureblood assholes, if I’m away from you and everyone else that I trust and care about, if I’m living a lie—then I want it to be worth it. I want it to count for something.”

She took a step towards him, her entire face tight with emotion. “You tell Denise she isn’t pulling me. I’m not calling in sick. I’m doing my damn job, and I’m taking Rittenhouse down. Because with all due respect, she doesn’t understand what this means to me. She can walk away whenever she wants. But you? Me? Wyatt? Rufus? Jiya? Mason? We can’t walk away. Jiya’s visions, her and Rufus’s piloting, Mason’s knowledge, Jess—our loved ones that we lost, you and I, your wife, your child, my sister—we can’t walk away from this. Denise still has her family and if she decided to cut and run, I guarantee you Emma would just let her go. Because without Denise, we have nothing. We can’t go out into the world, we’d be sitting ducks.

“So no. She doesn’t get to pull me. I’m sticking this out. I’m in this now and I’m seeing it through. And if Emma wants to come for me then let her try.”

Lucy was shaking by now, her voice tight and starting to climb dangerously in pitch. Fuck it, fuck it if she didn’t appreciate it, she was starting to enter a panic attack and Flynn couldn’t have that. He grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Hey. Hey, breathe with me, squeeze my hands, tight as you can.”

She squeezed, and Flynn breathed deeply, watching as Lucy mimicked him. For a few moments they just breathed together as she squeezed his hands, until it felt almost like she was rearranging the bones in his palms.

At last she relaxed her grip, wiping at her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “You good?” Flynn asked.

Lucy stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his torso, hugging him. Flynn staggered, not from her weight but from sheer surprise. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back.

“Being a spy isn’t very fun, is it,” she said softly. “It’s all… checking over your shoulder and lying to good people. Using them.”

Flynn sighed, rubbing her back. “No. It’s… it’s not anything like the movies, no. It’s generally very boring, and a lot of waiting around, and doing little, odd things that you don’t understand. And it’s… yes. It’s doing things you know will hurt people, and telling yourself it’s for the greater good.”

“I want to take down Rittenhouse, whatever it takes,” Lucy whispered. “But when I thought that—I thought—it would be easier, almost. Killing people who deserve it. People like Emma. Because this is hurting people who don’t deserve it. And being intimate with people that I hate.”

“It’s not easy,” Flynn contradicted. “It’s never easy, to kill someone. Even if you truly believe that… that they deserve it. It’s a weight that—that I don’t want you to have to carry. Stacy and everyone else here, they’ll be all right. But taking a life, there’s no recovering from that. You can’t undo that. Stacy can get another job. You can have good sex to replace the bad sex, or take therapy, or whatever you need. But once someone’s dead… they’re dead.”

“I’m not some delicate flower, Flynn. You don’t have to protect me.”

“I know that. But I think it’s fair of me to not want you to feel what I have.”

Lucy turned her head, tilting it up until she rested her chin on his chest. It hit him fully, like a sack of bricks to the face, that he was holding Lucy in his arms. That all it would take would be for her to get up onto her tiptoes and for him to tilt his head down, and their lips would meet.

Lucy’s dark eyes stared up at him. Her lips parted. He thought—there was a look in her eyes that made him think that—that maybe—

His breath caught in his throat as Lucy went up onto her toes. She did it slowly, tentatively, completely different from the self-assured, commanding air that she’d had in their scenes. The air around him felt thick, heavy, taut. He wondered deliriously if this was a dream, if this was actually happening, but her face was only a few inches from his and she was looking at him like he was a night sky full of stars and she was seeing them for the first time—

Someone banged on the door. “Hey! How much longer is it gonna take!”

Lucy jerked back like someone had slapped her, stepping out of his arms. “You—you should go,” she said, rubbing at her shoulder.

“Ah. Yes.” The world felt off-kilter, the air too thin now. He couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. “I’ll see you next week, then. Be careful.”

“That’s my line,” Lucy whispered, a wry smile tugging up the corner of her mouth.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use it on you.”

Lucy made a sound that was almost a laugh, then she grabbed the door handle. “I’ll distract them.”

Flynn nodded at her.

She opened the door and slipped out and he heard her making up some excuse about needing a tampon, and he took his chance, hurrying out of the bathroom and through the bar to the back door.

He didn’t look back, though he wanted to. He could feel the weight of Lucy’s gaze along the back of him, not just his head but his whole body, like she was trailing it over him, memorizing him. Probably so she could pinpoint how much stress he’d accumulated in his body next week.

Flynn stepped into the cold night air of the back alley and inhaled a deep lungful, sagging back against the wall, his knees weak.

They might not have kissed, but his mouth burned all the same.


	6. Chapter 6

Flynn walked into the main room of the new safe house, staring around. “Well, better digs than the bunker, I suppose.” At least the kitchen was a bit nicer. “Did Christopher say why the meeting was called?”

Jiya and Rufus were sitting at the table and shrugged. Mason was fiddling with the newly-moved Lifeboat equipment and muttering about those ‘Homeland bastards banging up my things’.

Denise entered as if on cue, Wyatt with her. “All right, everyone, listen carefully. As you all know from Lucy’s reports, Emma has started to take the idea of sleeper agents a step further. She’s having children planted, raised in Rittenhouse back in time.”

Flynn frowned. Wyatt looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his scruff worse than usual, dark circles under his eyes, his face pale.

“It seems that this was the final incentive that Jessica needed to turn double agent,” Denise said. “She doesn’t like the idea that she won’t be allowed to raise her child, or what her child might go through to serve Rittenhouse. So she’s working with us.”

Denise glanced at Wyatt, who shuffled his feet. “I know that she, uh, that she really hurt us. When she—Jiya, I’m real sorry. But she says that she didn’t want to—that she was going to tell us the truth, but then she got pregnant and was scared for the baby’s life so she defected back to Rittenhouse so they wouldn’t hurt the kid. She says that’s why, um, why she stole the Lifeboat instead of just blowing it up or whatever.”

“And how are we supposed to believe that?” Rufus demanded, his hand tightening around Jiya’s.

“Because stealing the Lifeboat and a pilot who could possibly then escape and steal it back is stupid,” Flynn said.

Wyatt’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, apparently in shock that Flynn would defend Wyatt’s point in an argument.

Flynn rolled his eyes. “Look, Jessica could’ve killed any one of us that night. We were all asleep. Wyatt was in bed with her, she stole his gun, shooting him would’ve been easy. I wasn’t armed, neither was anyone else.” He’d been asleep in the chair while Lucy had been borrowing his bed again. “And Rittenhouse doesn’t need another time machine. The best way to cripple us would’ve been to blow up the bunker, or at least the Lifeboat. We’re stranded but alive, there, problem solved. Stealing the Lifeboat and Jiya was literally the most complicated way she could’ve attacked us. It only makes sense if she was a reluctant Rittenhouse agent.”

“Thank you, Flynn,” Denise said. “I agree, and I’ve been letting Wyatt make monitored attempts to reach out to Jess with this in mind. She’ll be communicating with us from now on to try and let us know more about Rittenhouse’s plans. This should help us with counterattacking them while we prepare the information that Lucy gives us.”

Lucy. Flynn’s stomach turned over.

He didn’t know what her thoughts were about Wyatt. If she—if she still had feelings for him. But if she did… this had to be a blow, to learn that Wyatt and Jess were talking and possibly on the path to reconciliation.

“I don’t… expect you guys to forgive her,” Wyatt said, his voice raw. “But I just—she’s pregnant with my kid. I can’t—I won’t abandon my kid.”

Jiya abruptly got up from the table and walked into the kitchen, throwing the fridge door open and staring angrily inside like the milk had just called her mother names.

Denise looked over at Flynn. “You’ll need to tell Lucy about this.”

Yes, because it was apparently his job to deliver painful news to her, or at least see her during those moments when the pain hit. “Fine.”

He’d tell her at the end of the session, when he’d have a good excuse to hold her and, hopefully, hide her face from the cameras if she cried.

 

* * *

 

Lucy walked into the club, dressed casually, smiling. “Hey, Stacy.”

Stacy beamed at her. “Derica! Here to view your video files?”

“Ugh, yes please. I just feel I’m getting repetitive.”

“Hey, some people like routine.”

“I know, I know, but… anyway. Thanks for letting me look at these.”

Stacy stood up, motioning for Lucy to follow her through a right-hand door that Lucy had never been through before. “It’s no problem.”

It struck Lucy as kind of ironic that Stacy always wore clothes that, while very nice, weren’t the elegantly provocative kind that one would expect from a BDSM club receptionist. She wore tight skirts, but they went all the way down to mid-calf. She wore long-sleeved blouses that didn’t show any cleavage (although they were usually some shade of pink). Her hair was always done up in some kind of bun, with those two hairpins keeping it in place.

In other words, she looked more like the administrator at a prestigious boarding school than someone who organized sexual arrangements.

Stacy led Lucy down a short, brightly lit hallway—a far cry from the artfully dim lighting in the rest of the club—and opened a door leading into a small room. There were a few television monitors in front of a large desk, and a comfortable swivel chair, and a laptop computer.

“This is my viewing room. It’s separate from the main security viewing room next door.”

Lucy was aware that there were security officers. Basically bouncers. But she’d never seen them. She figured she’d never had reason to.

Stacy turned on the laptop, logged in, and then went into the files, pulling up the ones with Derica_Wallace on them. Stacy logged in again to open all the files. Lucy watched her fingers carefully as Stacy did so.

Lucy smiled. “Thank you so much.”

“Just holler if you need anything!” Stacy said. “Don’t let the computer go to sleep, though, or you’ll need me to log you back on again.”

“Will do, thanks!”

Lucy smiled at her as Stacy waved and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Then she grabbed her phone out of her purse.

There really was an app for everything, according to the instructions that Jiya and Mason had put on the flash drive for her. That included an app that put a thermal seeking filter on your phone, allowing you to see the heat imprints just left by, say, someone’s fingers on a keyboard.

Lucy opened the app and turned the camera onto the keyboard. Okay, so if these keys were lighting up… and she’d seen Stacy hit the ‘n’ button twice…

She scrolled to the ‘search’ bar and typed in the name of the first Rittenhouse client, then plugged in her flash drive. Once she’d figured out Stacy’s log in and password (Unicorn674, which, what the hell Stacy), she was able to open all the video files on that client and export them onto the flash drive.

Then it was just a matter of repeating the process.

She tried to keep an eye on the clock as she went. She had her own video files up still, the footage of her last session with Flynn playing so that she could pretend she was watching it if anyone came in.

Some movement from the video caught her eye and she paused in her downloading.

It was afterwards, when she’d been helping Flynn drink the water. The video quality was damn good, and there was more than just one camera. She could see her own face, and she hadn’t… she hadn’t realized she’d looked like that. How concerned she’d been.

Had she really looked so—so soft?

She saw herself trail a finger down Flynn’s scar. Saw herself ask, “How did this happen,” although she’d whispered softly enough the camera hadn’t really been able to pick it up.

She watched herself kissing Flynn, first on his stitches, then on his mouth. Had she been that tender with him? Her emotions were playing across her face, clear as day.

No wonder Stacy was asking her questions. She looked… she looked…

Voices came from down the hallway. Stacy and Candace.

Fuck.

Lucy hastily moved all her own video files with Rittenhouse clients into the flash drive. Please, please, please, finish exporting…

Stacy and Candace were right outside the door.

“I just wish you would clear this with me first—” Candace was saying.

The files finished downloading.

Lucy yanked the flash drive out, knowing it wasn’t the proper way to eject it and just hoping nothing was damaged in the process, shoving it into her bra and exiting out of the download window just as the door opened.

She paused the video that was playing. It was right at the moment she’d touched her forehead to Flynn’s, his arms around her.

Her mouth went dry. They really couldn’t have looked more like a couple if they’d tried.

“Madam,” Lucy said, smiling. “Sorry, do you need the room?”

“I’m sorry,” Candace said, “but Stacy should have cleared this with me, first. You need a member of my security personnel in here with you at all times if you’re to review your files.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lucy closed the video file. “I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sorry.”

She stood up, grabbing her purse. Stacy, looking a bit mollified, led her out.

“I hope you’re not in trouble,” Lucy whispered.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Madam is stern on the outside but she’s all marshmallow on the inside,” Stacy assured her quietly.

Lucy’s heart was pounding up in her throat. That had been a close call—too close. She hadn’t had a chance to check and make sure there wasn’t a record of video downloads, or search options in the files. If someone found out that somebody had downloaded all the video files of certain clients…

She’d worry about that later. Right now, she just had to keep the flash drive safe until tomorrow, when she’d see Flynn and hand it over.

Actually, right now she had to find a bathroom. She was going to throw up.

 

* * *

 

Flynn ignored the knowing look that Stacy gave him as he entered the club. She was a bit too sharp for his liking. Her observational skills must make her a valuable employee, but it also meant that she saw more than Flynn wanted her to see. He suspected that she knew how he felt about Lucy, or rather Derica Wallace.

“Have fun,” Stacy cooed at him as she buzzed open the door and let him through into the hallway.

Flynn entered the bedroom, his stomach knotting in anticipation—and not in a good way.

How was he even supposed to say it? _Hey, Lucy, the guy who said he was in love with you is bringing his double agent wife back into the group and might be mending fences with her?_

Where did he even begin with that?

Lucy entered almost right after he did. Flynn turned and she took a few strides forward, like she was going to hug him again, and then froze. Cleared her throat.

“I was thinking that we could try blindfolding you today,” she said, her voice in its usual commanding tone. She was wearing the same black silk robe as the last session, the one that stopped halfway down her thighs, but her hair was down and loose this time. Hopefully the hair was a sign that she’d worked out her frustrations on him last week and didn’t plan to punish him.

Not that he objected to her form of punishment. But he really, really wanted to be allowed to touch her today.

“Would you be all right with that?” Lucy asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes.” A shiver ran down his spine. He trusted her. “If that’s what you want, ma’am, then that’s what I want.”

Lucy smirked at him. Given how much he’d been a thorn in her side the first year they’d known each other, that had to be amusing for her. “Careful with promises like that, Mr. Thompkins, you never know what I might do with that.”

“Michael,” Flynn blurted out.

Lucy raised her eyebrows at him.

 _Thompkins_ was his mother’s last name, yes, but Michael—or _Miljenko_ , technically—was his actual middle name. It felt more like she was talking to him, to who he actually was, when she used that name.

“If you could call me Michael,” he said, off Lucy’s continued _go on_ look, “I’d appreciate it.”

“Michael.” Lucy nodded. “Well then, Michael, why don’t you get on the bed and we’ll have a little fun with the blindfold. And if you’re good, I’ll let you have…” Lucy paused, a devilish smile curling up the corners of her mouth.

She walked over to him, putting her hands on his chest and getting up onto her toes, her breath hot on his cheek as he tipped his head down so she could reach his ear.

“If you’re very good for me, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

Flynn lost all feeling in his legs as heat shot down his spine and he grew painfully hard. Lucy chuckled darkly in his ear as she pulled back, her hands sliding down his chest. “You like that idea?”

Flynn swallowed a few times, trying to wet his dry mouth. He’d wanted—he’d wanted to get his mouth on her since, fuck, he couldn’t even remember when. Since forever. But he had never, would never, dare to ask her. He had thought—well it was one thing to use him, he supposed, but another thing altogether to ask him to perform a sexual act on her. She’d been doing all the work, really, in fucking him.

But yes, please, he’d do whatever it took to be good enough for her for that.

“Yes, ma’am,” he managed to croak.

Lucy gestured towards the bed. “Well, then. You know what to do.”

He stripped off his clothes, letting Lucy grab a strip of black cloth and tying it carefully around his eyes. There was a moment when the darkness enveloped him where he felt a flicker of panic, his chest growing tight, but then he felt Lucy’s hands running through his hair and smoothing down his shoulders.

There was a kiss dropped onto the curve of his shoulder. “I’m going to guide you to lie down and tie your hands,” she told him. “Is that all right? Or would you prefer to not be restrained for this?”

He was at the point now, having done this with her a few times and gotten himself back into that regular mindset, that the feeling of the ties pulling tight made all of his limbs instinctively relax. It was like… whatever the opposite of a shot of adrenaline was. The tension in his muscles just bled out, instantly.

“I’d… I’d like to be restrained, ma’am.”

“So good for me with your words.” Her voice was silky, her mouth brushing the shell of his ear, and then she kissed the side of his neck. “All right, then.”

She guided him back down onto the bed, then lifted his arms up into the correct position. Flynn relaxed into the hold of the ties, and then heard the timer being set up.

“Remember, your body, all of this,” Lucy said, running her hands over Flynn’s chest, “is mine, until the timer runs out. You don’t come until then. If you’re good, then you get your reward. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

There was a peck on his cheek, and then a sudden flash of cold onto his nipple. Flynn moaned, surprised, as Lucy’s hot tongue licked away the freezing water. Then again, in the middle of his chest. He hadn’t even known she had ice cubes or cold water nearby.

Again, and again, all over, the cold followed by the warmth and the sensation of her tongue and lips. He had no idea where she was going to touch next, the loss of his sight and the anticipation heightening everything.

Lucy’s hands roamed freely over his skin, her mouth dropping wherever she felt like, and he had no idea, no idea whatsoever…

Her mouth closed over his cock and he groaned. She teased him, not going fully down onto him, licking up the sides, toying with the foreskin and then lapping at the slit. She nosed down further, toying with him, her mouth and hands everywhere—and then she was gone, nowhere, he didn’t know.

Then her mouth was on his, demanding, the condom rolling onto him, and her hands were sliding everywhere, all over him, her nails digging in a little. It was all darkness, just the feelings, his skin abuzz, no, on fire, shivering and igniting under her touch. He was taut with anticipation, wanting to feel her everywhere, wondering what she’d do next.

Lucy pulled back and he gasped, sucking in air like he’d almost forgotten how. He heard the whisper of cloth as the robe fell away, and then suddenly—oh God oh holy fucking God—

He hadn’t realized, but Lucy hadn’t been wearing anything under the robe. He could feel it, all of her, her bare hot skin pressed all against him, her hips rolling into his—and then her hands were framing his face and she was kissing him ferociously, and her folds were slick and moving against his cock, almost but not quite sinking onto him, teasing him, and he wanted to see her so badly, he wanted to touch her so very badly, holy fuck.

Lucy’s hands were everywhere now, and then her hips pulled back and he heard the soft wet sounds of her touching herself, and she wouldn’t stop kissing him, and he wanted to see he wanted to see—and then she was sinking down onto him—

The timer went off and Lucy started to fuck him, the blindfold still in place, his hands still tied, but the timer had gone off and he was allowed, now, or at least he thought so—

“Go on,” Lucy encouraged, confirming it for him. “Whenever you want, I want to feel you, that’s it, come on, Michael, ah, _ah_ …” Her words trailed off into gasps.

He’d gone by Miljenko in the army, at first, to sound more Croatian, to fit in more, and this wasn’t quite the same but close enough and it was a first name, and that alone was intimate enough for him, especially if it was all he was getting. He liked to imagine that none of the other clients she slept with got her to call them by their first names, that he was the only one, that at least he got this…

Lucy dug her nails into him and twisted her hips savagely, encouraging him, and Flynn grunted at the swift pleasure-pain of it and came, his mind going deliciously blank, overwhelmed by sensation, his skin ablaze.

Lucy gave him a moment before removing the blindfold. “Keep your eyes closed,” she told him. “Until I finish counting to ten.”

He did as he was told, keeping his eyes shut until she reached ten, and only then did he open them.

Lucy smiled down at him, undoing the ties. “You were quite good today,” she said.

“Was I good enough?” he asked.

Lucy’s smile became Cheshire. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want—I’d like—I want to eat you out. Please.” Oh, God, so much.

“How much? You’re good with your words, let’s use them.”

He swallowed. “More—more than anything, please, ma’am, let me—let me make you come like that.”

Lucy pulled back, but the ties were still in her hand. “I’m not quite sure I heard you begging enough.”

“Please, ma’am, Derica.” He sat up, bracing his hands on the bed. “Please.”

“That’s what you want, out of all the things you could ask for.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.” Lucy stood up, then gestured for him to get to the edge of the bed.

Flynn did so. Lucy got her hand in his hair and pushed down, until he slid off the bed entirely and got onto his knees.

“Hands behind your back,” she said softly.

Flynn did as he was told, and Lucy tied his wrists together. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, lazily hooking a leg over his shoulder, her hand still in his hair.

“If you want to use your mouth on me that badly, then go ahead. But that’s all you’ll be using.” She spread the leg that was on the bedspread a little wider. “And you’ll do it until I tell you to stop, are we clear?”

Flynn swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He was ninety percent sure he was going to die like this. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy tugged him towards her. “Then what are you waiting for?”

 

* * *

 

Oh, dear God.

Lucy arched her back, her leg nearly sliding off Flynn’s shoulder as he licked into her.

She’d had no idea that Flynn had been wanting to do this. She wished he’d thought to ask her for this ages ago. But then, she hadn’t thought to ask him for anything like this. Doing things to Flynn that got her off along the way, that was one thing. But to ask him to do something for her without there being any explicit reward for him tied into it—that hadn’t felt quite right.

Of course, asking a sub to make their dom come was a typical part of the dynamic. Something along the lines of ‘make me come and then if you’re good about it I’ll let you come after’. But this wasn’t a typical relationship, this wasn’t because they were two people who liked each other, this was for undercover work and she hadn’t felt comfortable asking him for something like that.

Except, it turned out, this was what he wanted.

_More than anything._

Lucy’s legs seized up, then shivered uncontrollably as Flynn sucked at her clit. Oh fuck it was so good, he was so good, oh _fuck_. He teased her a bit, pulling back and kissing, licking up her thighs, sucking marks into them, right at the most sensitive part, the juncture next to her folds. But then he dove back in, twisting his tongue into her like all he wanted to do was hear her screaming for him.

Lucy wasn’t altogether sure that she wouldn’t end up screaming by the end of this. She had to be careful not to say his real name, _Garcia_ and _Flynn_ both on the type of her tongue at various moments. Oh, Lord, he had to have really been thinking about this, putting thought into this, how else would he be attacking her with such single-minded devotion?

She tightened her hold on his hair, another shudder working through her. She was close, she was so close, she was trembling all over and it felt so good oh God it had been years since someone had done this to her and it felt so, so good—

Flynn’s teeth scraped ever so lightly over her clit and Lucy cried out wordlessly, sinking back onto the bed. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. She felt like a limp noodle. Jesus Christ.

But Flynn wasn’t stopping. He was still licking into her, wet and sloppy, his tongue flicking over her clit like a cat with cream, biting a new mark into her thigh, eating her up like she was his last goddamn meal. Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, sparks dancing in her vision. She was far, far too sensitive, each brush of his tongue making her whole body jerk. It was so good, it was too good, she didn’t understand why he wasn’t stopping when he’d already made her come but fuck her if she was going to ask him to stop. She was already close again, already… oh dear holy fucking… oh _God_ …

She sobbed, clenching down, tugging at his hair (probably to the point of pain, oops) as she came a second time. Flynn pulled back a little, kissing up and down her thighs, soothing.

“You can…” Lucy inhaled sharply, trying to find her voice. She knew now why he hadn’t stopped—she hadn’t told him to. “You can stop, now, thank you Michael.”

She only remembered his fake name at the last second, _Garcia_ hovering on her lips. She didn’t even know if he’d want her to call him by his first name. She’d been calling him Flynn for so long… perhaps ‘Garcia’ was really only for his family, the one that he had lost.

Flynn gave a final, soft kiss, this one to the inside of her knee, before sitting back on his heels. His face looked a wreck, and so did her thighs for that matter.

Her fingers shook as she undid the ties, tossing them aside and helping him onto the bed, making sure his wrists and hands were all right. “I’ll clean up,” she said, getting a washcloth, and water for both of them.

Flynn reached for her as she slid back into his arms, reaching up to play with her hair. “You had a good week?” she asked, for the benefit of the video.

Flynn paused, one hand buried in her hair, the other stroking her lower back. “An old coworker came back,” he said quietly.

Lucy struggled with that. Who?

“She left us for another company,” Flynn went on. “Caused a bit of a scandal. But now she’s had a change of heart. Something to do with becoming a mother.”

Oh.

Jess. Jess was back—and for the sake of her child.

Lucy bit her lip, resting her head on Flynn’s chest. Yes… with the things the Rittenhouse men were saying, about Emma using children as sleeper agents in the past while she doubled her efforts in the present… Jess’s child had to be one of the children that Emma planned to use.

It seemed that giving up her kid was not something Jessica Logan had bet on when she’d chosen Rittenhouse.

“Can you trust her?” she whispered.

“I think so,” Flynn replied. “Not all of my coworkers see it that way but orders are orders.”

Lucy felt… surprisingly bad for Jess. What did you do, when your husband who’d been crap to you said he’d changed, but he was your enemy, but you loved him, but you were pregnant, but the people who claimed to have raised you were going to take that child away, but they could hurt you, but…

What did you do?

She stroked Flynn’s arm. And Wyatt… this had to be hard for him, too. She hoped that this meant by the time she got back he’d have chosen a side. Once, she would’ve thought it would warm her, help her, to hear him say that he loved her. But by the time those words had come they’d felt hollow. More for his benefit than for hers.

Now, she didn’t really want Wyatt’s love. Or at least not the kind of love he seemed to want to give her. She wanted him to work things out with Jess, whether that was as a wife or as a friend. She wanted them to find their peace together, and to leave her heart out of it.

“Are you all right?” Flynn whispered. He sounded concerned for her.

Lucy tilted her head, looking up at him. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice wobbling, surprising herself.

She reached up, tracing the outline of Flynn’s lips with her fingers. What would Flynn do, if Lorena was alive?

Well, he’d told her. Make sure Lorena and Iris were safe, and then walk away.

What would Flynn do, if he was in love?

She found that she wanted to know.

It felt like she was dangling at the edge of a cliff. Knowing she was going to jump off. Just waiting for the right push.

Flynn kissed her fingertips as they brushed over his lips. “You look upset,” he whispered, his mouth barely moving, mindful of the cameras.

Lucy pushed herself up so that she could kiss him. She was upset, she was, because—because she only got an hour or so with him a week. Because she couldn’t stop kissing him, touching him, even in the bar bathroom she’d been about to—because the sex was over and that meant it was almost time for him to go and she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want him to go at all.

Flynn wrapped his arms around her, turning her, rotating them so that he was half on top of her and she was pressed down into the mattress and he could kiss her, deep and slow. Lucy clutched at his shoulders, his back, wrapping her leg around him, keeping him pinned to her.

Why did he always have to go?

“If you pass me my robe,” she whispered into his mouth, “the drive’s in the pocket. I got all the video files.”

Flynn pulled back, the expression on his face—not sad, or at least not just sad, but—sympathetic. Like he was upset on her behalf. What for?

He passed her the robe, moving smoothly enough that she couldn’t even see him taking the drive out, although she could tell when she put the robe on that it wasn’t there anymore, the weight of it gone from her pocket.

Make it quick. Like ripping off a band-aid.

She quickly tied the robe, then kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself until next week,” she said lightly, forcing a smile onto her face.

Then she turned and left, quickly, before she could climb into his arms again and do something stupid like cry and beg him to stay.

 

* * *

 

Well, fuck.

Flynn sank back down onto the bed, rubbing at his eyes. If he’d been in any doubt that Lucy still had feelings for Wyatt… that just about settled it.

She’d almost cried right after he’d told her. She’d clung to him like the world was ending. Some poor comfort he was, a substitute for who she really wanted, but he was all she had and he supposed that they were friends after a fashion at this point.

He took a few deep breaths. Trying to steady himself. He’d always known that his affection was one-sided. This was a painful reminder but it wasn’t anything new. He would be fine.

Flynn sat up, and gathered his clothes, slipping the flash drive into his pocket. He would have to be strong, for Lucy’s sake, these next few weeks. She’d need someone to lean on, as she had before, when she’d been diving head first into vodka and depression.

He wouldn’t let her sink into that. He’d be there for her, no matter what. Because when it came to Flynn and love, he’d realized over a decade ago that he was more than willing to martyr himself. This was nothing new. This didn’t mean anything to Lucy beyond sexual attraction and a bit of friendship. He wasn’t any different from her other clients and it was about time he remembered that and found a way to accept it.

Except… he knew that he wouldn’t ever fully accept it. That this would never truly stop hurting him, and open wound in his chest.

Nothing to do about it, though, other than find a way to keep walking. _The Little Mermaid_ had been his mother’s favorite fairy tale growing up—the original story, not the Disney one—and if she could walk when each step was like knives slicing through her feet, then surely he could handle a little heartbreak.

Just keep walking.

It wasn’t until he got into the car, though, and was almost back at the safe house, that he looked at the calendar and it sank in what day it was. Or rather, what day tomorrow was.

Oh, no.

           

* * *

 

It was May 13th.

May 13th.

Lucy stared at the date on her phone as she grabbed her things for work.

_I took your sister away from you so that we could have more time._

It had been a year. A year, and she hadn't even realized until now, had no warning, no thought of it creeping up on her, lost in the mission, forgetting until this morning as it stared her in the face...

_I just wish that I had told you about all this sooner._

A year since she’d lost her mother and Rufus—only Rufus had come back. A year since her mother had told her she’d taken Amy from her. A year since whatever fragile hope of reconciliation there’d been had died.

_You know what the last thing she said to me was?_

She could barely see the world around her as she entered the club. “Hey,” Stacy said. “You all right?”

“Fine.” Her voice didn’t sound right. “I’ll go get ready.”

Tie the knots. Check for stress. Set the timer. “Be good for me today.” “How was your week?” “Tell me about it.” Massage, soothe, clean up.

She wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

_Rittenhouse wouldn’t ever let that happen to me._

_I took your sister away._

_I just wish I’d told you sooner._

_This is your destiny, Lucy._

She ended up in the break room, somehow. TJ—fully recovered from the laxatives—and Maya looked up from their conversation in alarm.

“Derica?” TJ asked. “Honey, you look green.”

Lucy shook her head. “I’m fine.” _Fire, fire, fire, fire, the gun’s out of bullets. “She’s gone, Lucy, she’s gone.”_

“I’ll get Candace,” Maya said, darting up.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Hands touched her shoulders, and for a wild moment she thought—she hoped it might be—

_“She’s gone, Lucy, she’s gone. Shh. I’m here.”_

“Derica.”

Lucy looked up to see Candace staring down at her. “What’s wrong.”

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

“No, you don’t, you need to go home. You were barely yourself in your session. I can’t have you in charge of people like that if you’re not in the right headspace. Take the day off, we’ll cover your sessions.”

“No.” She couldn’t—she couldn’t fail, she had to be here— “I’m good, I’m fine, I just need a minute, I promise.”

Candace sat down next to her. “Derica. What’s going on.”

Lucy looked away. May 13th. “It’s… my mom died, one year ago today.”

Candace’s face softened and she took Lucy’s hand. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“It was—she was complicated. I probably shouldn’t be so upset.” Lucy wiped fiercely at her eyes. “But she was still… there were good times, between us. She was my mom.”

Candace squeezed her hand. “Go home, Derica. That’s not a request.”

Lucy nodded, standing up. “Yes, madam.”

She gathered her things and took the subway, still in a daze. She wished she could call the bunker. Or the new safehouse, they must have moved by now. Moved somewhere new and she didn’t even know where. She wanted to talk to Jiya, who knew what it was to lose a parent. She wanted to talk to Rufus, have him distract her and make her laugh. She wanted to talk to Denise, to have a mom to cry to.

She wanted to talk to Flynn. She wanted to feel safe, with him, even if it was only his voice.

When she got home she dumped her things, turned on the TV to have some noise in the background, and then contemplated ordering takeout or just going straight for the ice cream.

Just ice cream, she figured.

The TV played stupid reality show after stupid reality show until she fell asleep at some point when it was infomercial time, only to wake up and feel like getting out of bed was impossible.

She just felt so heavy. She’d lost everyone that she’d cared about, and some of them—Amy—she’d lost because of someone else that she loved. The mother that she’d loved, for all of her faults, had stopped existing. Now this… this awful woman was in her place and that was what the world was going to remember, not the mother that Lucy knew, the demanding but loving mother, the mother who had loved Amy just as fiercely as she’d loved Lucy, the mother who had cried for days when Henry had died and had told Lucy _he saved my life_ , that mother… she was gone just as surely as Amy was gone.

And Lucy would never get her back.

She didn’t know how long she lay in bed. She was just drifting. The blankets felt heavy, her body felt dirty but she couldn’t get herself into the shower, she wasn’t hungry but she wasn’t full, it was all dull, dull, dull.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Lucy remembered what Flynn had said about Emma. Well, if it was Emma, Lucy wanted to get this over with.

She managed to drag herself up and out of bed. “Coming,” she called.

But it wasn’t Emma.

It was Candace.

“Well,” the woman said briskly. “Looks like I was right to stop by.” She eyed Lucy up and down. “We’ll start with a shower, then.”

She guided Lucy into the bathroom, helping her get undressed and into the shower, where she washed her hair. Lucy soaked in there for a while, feeling the warm spray slowly guide her back to life, and when she finally got out, she saw that Candace had stripped her bed and thrown it all in the laundry and was now in Lucy’s closet, examining her clothes.

“Here,” she said, handing Lucy one of her dresses, a pale pink one. “Wear this.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Out,” Candace told her. “We’re getting some proper food in you and then we’re going shopping. Getting you something nice.”

Lucy had a feeling that she didn’t get a choice in this. She got dressed, let Candace braid her hair, and then put on her shoes and followed her out the door.

Candace kept up a steady stream of conversation without really expecting Lucy to join in as they walked through the streets towards the local shopping mall. She talked about the club, about some of the workers, about her annoying neighbor.

“What do you want?” she asked when they got there. “Mexican, Italian, Indian?”

Lucy shrugged. She felt better, clean and dressed and outside. But she still didn’t really have a preference.

“All right. I want some samosas.”

Lucy ordered curry. It reminded her of Denise, how she’d bring food from her mom to the bunker occasionally. Her throat closed up and she had to blink rapidly.

“It’s not easy,” Candace said quietly. “Losing family. No matter how rough our relationship with them was.”

Lucy took a drink of water to try and force her throat to relax. “My mom was. She changed. She wasn’t the person I knew growing up anymore. I found out—right before she died that she’d helped separate me from my sister. I’d thought it was all someone else but she confessed to helping. Because she wanted me all to herself.”

Candace gazed at her for a long moment, her eyes soft. “I had a brother. It wasn’t the best relationship, towards the end. Growing up we were very close but he got into behavior that I didn’t approve of. Then he got into drugs and I threw him into rehab, but he kept slipping. He didn’t want my help, and he was hurtful, and said… rather unkind things about me, and my profession, and my lifestyle choices. I barely recognized him as the boy I’d loved so much growing up.

“But when he died… automobile accident, entirely his fault. He drove recklessly. Speeding, tailgating, weaving in and out of traffic. He’d totaled three cars before he was finally—anyway. When he died, I still mourned him. I still loved him. And I thought to myself, how could that be possible? How could I love someone who’d rejected all my attempts to help, who had called me a slut, who’d been so awful to me? And the fact is… sometimes, especially with family, we still hold out hope that the person will become the person we once knew. That good person.

“But when that person dies… the hope dies with them. The hope that they’ll become better again. And it’s okay, to be sad about that. It’s all right to admit you still had some love for that person, even after what they did to you. If you’d stayed in a relationship with them and had kept letting them hurt you, that’s different. You have to get away from that. But emotions are complicated things, especially with family, and so it’s all right, for you to be sad.”

Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth to try and keep the sob from coming out. “I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing a napkin to wipe at her eyes. “It’s just. I’m all alone here. My—the woman who’s sort of. Like a mom to me, I’m far away from her and she’s—I can’t call her right now. My friends are all far away. And my family’s gone and I can’t…”

“Can you get in touch with your sister?”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know where she is. I’m trying to find her.” _I’m trying, I’ll always keep trying._

Candace reached over and pet Lucy’s hair. “My dear. I’m sorry. But you’re not alone here. You have us.”

Guilt settled in her chest like a rock. She might have them, but they didn’t have her, not really. Not when she was lying to them all and using them.

She felt like she might throw up.

“I never got to have children,” Candace noted, taking Lucy’s hand and squeezing it gently. “I was pregnant, three times. Miscarried twice, premature stillborn the third time. I suppose I just wasn’t meant to be a mother biologically. And adoption companies don’t really want to give a baby to a single woman who runs a BDSM club. And I could never replace your mother. But you and all of my people at the club… I like to think that I don’t do too bad of a job. Looking out for you all. So I’m here.”

Lucy nodded, squeezing Candace’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They ate in relative silence, and then Candace took her through the shops. “Pick out something nice,” she said. “Something you want, not something you need.”

Lucy didn’t have the faintest clue what to get. A scarf, maybe? Something not too expensive…

Then they stepped inside of a jewelry store and she knew what she wanted.

Lucy walked over to their necklaces, looking through until she found it: a gold locket. It wasn’t the same one, not exactly, but it was the same shape and she liked the art nouveau design on the front.

“May I get this?” she asked, looking over at Candace.

Candace smiled. “Of course.”

Purchase made, Lucy slipped the locket over her head. It settled around her neck, bouncing slightly against her chest.

It was a familiar weight, one that grounded her. One that she hadn’t even realized she was missing so much until she got it back.

The picture of Amy—the original one—was still in the Lifeboat but that was all right. She’d get it back into the locket when this was all over. It felt good just to wear it. In the meantime, when she got home, she’d find a way to print out the digitized picture that Flynn had given her and she could try and put that in the locket. Just in case.

Candace walked her home. “Thank you,” Lucy told her, at her front door.

Candace smiled at her. It transformed the woman’s face, made her look younger, softer, less intimidating. “It’s what I’m here for, Derica. Get some good sleep. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Lucy nodded, going into the apartment. She felt so much lighter. Like she had energy again.

When she got inside she froze.

On the table was a bouquet of flowers. Flowers that had definitely not been there when she’d left this morning.

She walked over to them. On the flowers was a note.

_Got a call from your favorite. Said these were coming for you at the club but you aren’t in today, so I had them sent here. ~ Stacy_

Lucy looked at the flowers. They were lilies.

There was no note attached, but there were only a handful of people who would know what yesterday had meant to her. And lilies—they were funeral flowers.

It couldn’t have been Rufus or Jiya or Mason. They would be thinking about Rufus’s death, and his return. And ‘favorite’, from Stacy, that could only mean one person.

Lucy gently stroked the flowers, smiling even as her eyes watered again.

Yes, that was accurate, she supposed.

Flynn was her favorite.


	7. Chapter 7

Flynn was really, really starting to feel bad for leaving Rufus, Lucy, and Wyatt in the middle of the French and Indian War that one time.

Because currently he, Rufus, and Wyatt were stuck in the middle of the Not-as-Wild-as-One-Might-Think West with a damaged Lifeboat (thanks, Emma) and he was really getting sick of being stuck out here.

It was fourteen days, and counting.

He and Wyatt had opted to just try and manage their scruff while Rufus was still nicking himself, but at least they weren’t entirely in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and at least the repairs could be done here with Rufus—they just needed time.

“For the record?” Wyatt said. “I claim the shower first.”

“Try it,” Flynn replied idly.

“You could always share,” Rufus muttered.

Flynn wasn’t sure who glared at Rufus faster, him or Wyatt.

“In all fairness,” Flynn pointed out, “I’m the one who has an appointment. You want to be the one to explain to Lucy why I’m covered in mud?”

“Keep going and you’ll be the one explaining to her why you have a black eye,” Wyatt grumbled.

Wyatt was becoming… tolerable, lately. He wasn’t really going out of his way to pick fights with Flynn anymore, although the sass was still the same, and he was being a lot more quiet on missions, offering his opinion with more thought and less recklessness, and he was actually following Denise’s orders for once.

Didn’t mean Flynn was going to stop needling the guy.

“Maybe you two could stop posturing for two seconds and help me put this panel back in?” Rufus asked. “And then I think we can finally be on our way.”

Flynn got up, grabbing the panel and helping Rufus with it while Wyatt got their supplies.

“By the way,” Rufus said, settling into his seat, “seeing as I’m the one who’s getting us back to the present-day by tirelessly and thanklessly working on this thing while you two played Lethal Weapon: Back to the Future version, I think I get the shower first.”

Flynn rolled his eyes but buckled up in acquiescing silence as Rufus powered up the Lifeboat.

At last, they had lift off.

 

* * *

 

Lucy stepped into the client room and just about tripped over her own heels.

Flynn gave her a rather puppy-dog look, as if to say, _don’t be mad at me?_

“Your hair,” she blurted out, because she was an idiot.

Flynn’s hair was soft and flopping into his eyes a bit, and he looked a little weather beaten despite the nice button-up shirt, and he had—he was all—well, _scruffy_ was the best word for it.

Lucy shivered, thinking about what that would feel like between her thighs.

Hoo Lord.

“It was a rough week,” Flynn said, the corner of his mouth curling upward. She knew there was more behind that story, something to do with a mission most likely, and she was dying to know—but she figured it would be in the reports Jiya was writing for her on the flash drive.

It was a pity, though. She wanted to hear it all from Flynn directly.

She hadn’t thought, when she’d started this, about how much she would miss their late-night talks, how they would go on for hours and hours, about history mostly but about other things, TV shows, Shakespeare, rock music. Now, though, now it was like everything was reversed. She was getting all the physical touch she could ever want from him, and she reveled in it, but she wasn’t getting any of the conversation anymore.

It was greedy of her, but she wanted both.

Lucy grabbed him, pulling him in and kissing him, feeling the rough stubble against her mouth. Flynn groaned and dropped his hands to her hips, keeping her flush against him.

“Fourteen days,” he whispered. “Stuck in the goddamn past while we fixed the Lifeboat.”

“Mmm, then you must be desperate,” she whispered back. That explained the scruff, then. She tugged at him until she felt the back of her calves against the bed and sat down, spreading her legs. “On your knees.”

Flynn did as he was told, a smug little smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth. “You like it?” he asked. “I considered shaving but was in a bit of a rush to get here…”

Lucy undid her robe and shoved it aside. “I’m asking you to eat me out, what do you think?”

Flynn kissed the inside of her knee, that annoying smirk still in place, and then he was diving in and oh fuck yes. She was still wearing all of the lingerie she’d put on, and Flynn was happy to tease her through that at first, but then she helped him yank it down out of the way and oh _fuck_.

He was being a real smug bastard today, using his hands to keep her thighs pinned down, working in her until she was shaking and then pulling back.

Oh, he was so going to pay for this.

Right after he let her orgasm, that is.

Flynn was growling against her skin, the vibrations adding to the scrape of his stubble right against her folds and she bucked up into his mouth, starting to shake. She slid her hand into his hair, tightening her hold, trying to keep him from pulling away and teasing her again.

She felt Flynn chuckle, like he knew exactly what she was doing, and then he was finally properly sucking at her clit oh God oh God oh _God_ —and it all went white.

Lucy sank back onto the bed, pulling Flynn up to her. “You can—you can touch, you can—” she managed to gasp out, trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of mental order. Flynn obliged her at once, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed her neck. Lucy hooked her leg around his and pulled one of the few fighting moves that she knew, flipping him so that she was on top.

Her chest was still heaving, her legs liquid, molten, but she had plans for him and she wasn’t about to be derailed in them.

“You…” she said, taking Flynn’s hands and sliding them up to cup her breasts, “…get to undress me.” She kissed his jaw. “And then I was thinking… I could fuck you.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that,” Flynn pointed out, reaching his hands around to unhook her bra.

“No, I meant…” She settled herself between his legs, nudging them open with her knees, brushing her mouth against his. “I would _fuck_ you.”

Perhaps it was the comments that Maya and Paul had been making about taking Flynn off her hands, or perhaps it was the flowers he’d sent for the anniversary of her mother’s death, or perhaps it was just that she missed him. Perhaps it was all or none. But she was feeling rather… possessive at the moment.

She wanted Flynn to be hers, and she wanted him begging for her, she wanted him absolutely desperate and boneless for nobody else but her.

Flynn’s eyes went wide and dark and he shuddered as the meaning of her words sank in. “If that’s—if you want that—”

“This isn’t just about what I want, you know,” she told him. She ran her hands down his chest, undoing his shirt buttons. “I want to fuck you, very badly. I think you’d be very… handsome…” She skimmed her hands along his bare chest, pushing the shirt open. “…all desperate for me.” She slid her hands up to cup his jaw. “Begging me…”

She shimmied her shoulders to help Flynn get her bra off. “But this is about what you want too. Isn’t that why you come here? So that you can have your needs met? Hmm?”

Lucy helped get Flynn’s shirt off, then lightly pushed him back down onto the mattress. Flynn was still running his hands over her, looking up at her like she was the only thing in the room. “So I want to make sure that this is what you want.”

Flynn swallowed, his hands moving up to cup her face. “I do. I want—I want this. I trust you, and I want the—the feelings that come with it. The… release. The way that you—”

He moved his hand up an inch or two higher to cup her cheek. “I’m always having to be in control, at my job. No matter how stressful it gets. No matter how much the… relationships between coworkers becomes strained. We—we’re like family but family fights, family has problems, and we can’t afford to lose control, we can’t afford to fall apart, I can’t—I can’t fall apart. But with you I can. I can let… all of it go.”

Lucy gave a breathless, shuddering laugh. “It’s the opposite for me. I want—I don’t have control. Ever. My mother, my… people, life, it just all tries to take control from me. But here I have control, I have power, and—” God, she’d never said this out loud, really. “I have power here. And I never have power in my life. And I can help people here, I can help you, I can make you—give you what you need, and in my life it feels like all I do is try to help people and fail but there’s this. I can help you with this.”

“You’re always the one in charge with me,” Flynn told her. His thumb stroked her cheek. “Always.”

She knew, even if he couldn’t explicitly say it, that he meant on their missions as well. That for all their rocky starts, their differences of opinion, she was his captain. His leader.

Lucy pressed downward and kissed him frantically. She was sure that it was just—the sex, because of the sex he’d started to see her in a new light. She was well aware that despite theoretically being the leader of their team that none of them really saw her that way, except perhaps Rufus in the beginning because of her history knowledge. But she’d been bred by her mother to be a follower. How her mother had thought she’d get a strong Rittenhouse queen out of the daughter she’d raised to be a sheep, Lucy didn’t know, and she didn’t care. What she cared about was that she’d found some way to assert her authority with at least one person and if that way was sex then so be it.

She’d be selfish, she’d take it, she’d take all he was willing to give her. She wanted him so badly, she wanted his supplication, she wanted to feel this stubborn, clever, powerful man giving into her.

If she also wanted other things from him—she could shove those aside.

She had this.

Lucy told herself it was enough.

 

* * *

 

Flynn helped Lucy strip off the last of his clothes as she pushed him up the bed. “No restraints this time,” she told him. “You’re going to be good and you’re going to hold still for me. You’ll get to touch me when I say you can. Understood?”

It was a testament to how much she trusted him. Flynn nodded, breathing out _yes_ in between Lucy’s demanding kisses. Something had set her off—she was in a rather possessive mood tonight—but he wasn’t complaining. He’d meant it, when he said she was in charge. He’d been hers since the beginning. It was about time she knew it.

God, he'd missed her. It had been fourteen days, stuck in that desert hellhole, and he'd missed her, her smile and her touch and her kisses and her laugh. He'd missed her like a goddamn limb. And now he had her again and he would do anything she asked of him, absolutely anything, because he couldn't help it and being with her for just a couple of hours was far better than nothing. He'd take those hours, minutes, seconds, and savor them. He'd be hers in practice, rather than just in his thoughts.

Lucy took his wrists and set his hands down by his sides, then kissed her way slowly down his body, savoring him, taking her time. Flynn dugs his hands into the sheets. “Stay still,” she said, “I’m going to get the supplies.”

Flynn tried to get his breathing under control as she got everything. Lucy ran her hands up and down his sides as she climbed back onto the bed. “Shhh,” she soothed him. He could feel his pulse thundering in his ears, anticipation winding him up even more. “It’s all right, relax, I can’t do this unless you relax.”

He just—he wanted, craved, so badly, and it was hard not to give into impatience, to demand it all now, right away, to want to rush over the cliff headlong. Lucy got herself strapped up, then kissed along his stomach, gently pushing his legs open farther. “Feel free to beg,” she noted, just before she got to his cock and leisurely licked a stripe up it. “I like it when you do that.”

She drew just the head into her mouth, sucking, and then she pulled away. Flynn heard the cap of the lube bottle flipping open, and then Lucy’s slim fingers were gently massaging, finding their way down.

He could remember that he and Lorena had a couple of false starts when they’d first done this. He’d taken weeks to work up the courage to even ask her. He’d been scared that she’d think she was failing him, somehow, by being a woman, that she couldn’t offer him what a man could, but it wasn’t that at all, it didn’t have anything to do with gender. He hadn’t wanted a man fucking him, he’d wanted his wife.

Lucy, on the other hand, seemed to understand that. She also clearly knew what she was doing. She worked her fingers around and around, occasionally catching her finger tips on the rim but mostly just relaxing him, her other hand petting his stomach. Every so often Lucy would kiss him, along his inner thigh or on his stomach, just to reassure him.

Flynn tried not to squirm, even as he wanted to shove himself down onto her fingers and ask that she do it, that she hurry up, that she fuck him now. He tightened his hold on the sheets. Good, good, he was being good.

Lucy slid one finger inside, slick with lube. It was cold, for just a moment, but she moved steadily and that hot liquid feeling started to build inside of him.

It had been—fuck it had been years since he’d done this. The last time had been with Lorena, almost five years ago now. He’d forgotten how it made his senses go haywire, how it turned his legs into jelly, how he couldn’t catch his breath. It was unlike anything else, and he loved it for that, but oh God, it made it hard to hold back.

“You think you’re ready for a second finger?” Lucy asked him, as if she wanted to see if he needed a second helping of mashed potatoes at dinner.

Flynn struggled to unlock his jaw. He hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching it. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

Lucy smirked at him, doing as she’d promised and adding another finger, curling them, then scissoring them, slowly spreading him open. She took her time, and he could feel her purposefully avoiding his prostate—even if she didn’t know exactly where it was, biology wasn’t hugely different from person to person—relying on just the feeling of her fucking him to get him to melt.

And fuck, was he melting. It felt like his spine was starting to turn into liquid, vertebrae by vertebrae. Lucy took his cock into her mouth again and he keened, twisting the sheets in his fist, his chest heaving with each sharp inhale. Lucy bobbed her head up and down in time with her fingers, and at some point she added a third, and okay, _okay_ , he could literally feel the stiffness bleeding out of his limbs until he was just a helpless, limp pile on the bed as she stoked fire in him over and over and over—

And then she pushed up against his prostate and Flynn couldn’t have held in his groan if he’d tried.

Lucy smiled, pleased, and did it again, pulling off his cock and speeding up with her fingers. It felt good, it felt so good, and he was pretty sure he was telling her that along with a lot of other embarrassing things like _please_ and _more_ and _God you’re beautiful_ because she was, she was so beautiful like this, smirking and controlling, her dark hair spilling around her face and down her shoulders, her miles of skin on brazen display.

Lucy pulled her fingers out, then pushed herself up and off the bed, standing on the edge. He heard her slicking up the strap on, one of her hands still resting on his knee, her thumb rubbing soothing circles. “You ready?” she asked.

Flynn managed a croak. He swallowed and tried again. “Yes, please,” he said.

“I’m not sure that’s quite enough…”

“Please,” Flynn repeated. “Please, please, I want—I want you to fuck me, Derica, please.”

Lucy got a gleam in her eye, and then got back up onto the bed, and he felt the tip of the strap on start to slide into him, to push him apart. It was like all of the air was punched out of his lungs, replaced by the feeling of being stretched and filled to the absolute limit. Flynn clawed at the sheets, gasping for air, trying to relax—

And then he was, relaxing into it, breathing into it, and Lucy was gently pushing herself in until he felt her hips becoming flush with his. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good.”

Then she leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her mouth right at his ear. “We’re going to fuck just like this,” she said, lowering herself even more, until she was braced on her forearms and she could use her hand to keep their faces pressed cheek to cheek. “And I want you to say just one thing.”

She angled her hips to get into him deeper, and thrust. Flynn moaned, fire filling him, an earthquake in his gut. “You’re going to say my name.”

“Der—”

“No,” Lucy hissed. “My real name.”

Flynn swallowed. His mouth was right by her ear. “Lucy,” he whispered.

Lucy shuddered and thrust into him again, as if on instinct, like she couldn’t help herself. “ _Yes_ ,” she breathed.

Then she started to fuck him.

She shifted angle a few times, figuring out just the right one to get as deep in as possible, to hit his prostate and make him cry out wordlessly, made sparks dance behind his eyes. But once she found that angle she was relentless. She fucked him hard and fast, claiming him, no mercy whatsoever. Flynn held onto the sheets so hard he thought he’d rip them, wanting to touch, wanting to scream, but focusing on chanting that word in her ear in a harsh whisper.

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, _Lucy_ —”

She gave a small, pleased moan as he kept chanting her name. “You can touch me,” she ordered. “Touch me, touch me, touch me…”

He wrapped his arms around her, sliding his hands up and down her back, clawing almost, clinging, digging in, his fingers shaking. Lucy kept at it and oh God he had no control over his limbs, over anything, it was all too much. He hadn’t felt like this in so long, hadn’t been touched like this in so long, and certainly hadn’t been fucked like this in so long—like he belonged, utterly and completely, to someone.

He kept whispering her name, as much as he could, but soon it all fell away. Language fell away. There were only the inarticulate noises he could feel shot out of his throat, and the occasional random plead, for more, for harder, for yes, yes, _yes_.

Lucy must’ve had a double dildo sort on, or a vibrator, or something, because she was starting to make the desperate little gasping noises that he realized he’d come to know well—the sounds she started to make when she was close.

“Don’t hold back,” she ordered breathlessly. “Don’t hold back, I want to feel you, I want to hear you, come on, give it to me, come just like this, I’m not—touching your cock you can come just—like—this—”

He could, he really could, it was all too much and he was so close and oh God oh fuck it was all in her hands, he was in her hands, he wasn’t in the driver’s seat and he needed that, he needed her to take the wheel, he couldn’t fucking breathe without her, it was all just Lucy and how she was making him feel, Lucy and fire and melting and being remade all from her, all her, _Lucy—_

It was like everything drained out of him. He couldn’t even feel his limbs. He was utterly, blissfully, floating.

 

* * *

 

Lucy took off the strap on, crawling into Flynn’s arms and kissing along his jaw, feeling the roughness of it as it scraped along her lips. At first he was too limp to respond, just turning his face towards her with effort, but then slowly he came back to life and was able to wrap his arms around her.

“Mmm, that was lovely,” she told him. He’d been perfection, falling apart for her, begging and pleading, slurring his words towards the end, his mouth open and panting, his eyes glassy. Strung out and desperate was a damn good look on him.

Flynn let out a lazy rumble. Lucy laughed softly. Down for the count, indeed.

“I take it you’d like it if we did that again?” she asked.

Flynn nodded. “’S good.”

“Oh, just good?” she teased. “I’ll have to keep practicing, then.”

Flynn snorted, smiling at her as if he was drunk. “You’re… perfect.”

That did things to her heart. Dangerous things. Especially when she knew he just meant with, well, fucking him.

“We do appreciate positive feedback. Would you mind filling out our customer survey before you go?”

Flynn cracked one eye open and managed to raise one hand so he could playfully flip her off. Lucy had to tuck her face into his neck to hide her laughter, although seeing as she was shaking with it she didn’t think she succeeded very well.

“Can I ask you a question?” Flynn asked.

Lucy looked back up, into his eyes. He was starting to come back to himself, his gaze sharp, his hands moving over her with more purpose and coordination.

“You were… I hope this isn’t… intruding,” Flynn said slowly. “But you were very comfortable with that. Do you—have you—done that, a lot, before? I just—in my experience a lot of women don’t… they struggle with it.”

“Well, seeing as it was the only way to fuck my college girlfriend,” Lucy said, figuring she might as well, ah, come right out with it.

Flynn stared at her. “You were…?”

“I am. It wasn’t a phase.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Flynn’s cheeks flushed a little. “I meant, you were in a relationship with a woman.”

“Yes. She’s the one who got me into this. I’m submissive, with women, and we would sometimes come to the club to do scenes, and eventually I realized I’m… pretty dominant with men.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Flynn said dryly.

Lucy swatted him on the chest. “We broke up, eventually. There were a lot of reasons. One of them was I didn’t know how to tell my mom. I knew she wouldn’t—she wasn’t against it, in theory. But in practice… I was supposed to give her grandkids someday. Have a successful husband, in business or law or medicine. Something like that. And it just wasn’t a fight I wanted to have. Especially so soon after dad had died, and then there was the car accident…” She sighed. “Yeah. It’s. It is what it is. I haven’t really dated anyone seriously since then. Had a few flings, men and women, but nobody I was ever thinking of bringing home.”

She looked up into his face. “So that’s… how I’m so comfortable with it.”

Flynn looked at her for a long moment, then said, “My first serious relationship was with a man.”

Lucy blinked at him, honestly feeling a bit dizzy. “What?”

“His name was Josip. We grew up together, went into the war together. We were… we never defined it. For various reasons. But we were together until I lost him, in another conflict—it wasn’t. I got to hold him, at least, comfort him, or try to. Then about… it was a little over a year later, I think, that I met Lorena.”

Flynn blew out a slow breath. “I think for a while she felt she was in Josip’s shadow. He’d been in my life for… such a long time. And he’d meant a lot to me. Obviously.” A self-deprecating, embarrassed smile flitted across his face, there and gone in an instant. “But over time I think she realized—I loved her just as much. Differently, maybe, because she was different. She was her own person. Just as he was. But I didn’t love her any less.”

“She was lucky,” Lucy whispered. “You were lucky. To get a second person like that.”

She’d never even had a first person. Sara had meant a lot to her, of course she had, but even if Lucy hadn’t had the whole mom thing to deal with, Sara had never had Lucy’s whole heart. She’d never thought about spending the rest of her life with her.

Flynn looked up at her. “Yes,” he said, his voice oddly dull. “I suppose I was. I’m not… sure if I deserved her, but I did have her.”

Lucy pushed her hand through his hair, her hand sliding down his face, her thumb brushing back and forth across his cheek. “I feel bad for not telling people,” she whispered. “That I should—I should find a way to make it known. Especially with Denise.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Flynn replied. “It’s your personal life. You can share it however you choose. If people assume you’re straight, that’s on them. On society.”

She nodded, suddenly feeling small, and stripped bare, and tired, and scared, and young. She ducked her head down, tucking her face into Flynn’s neck.

He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, stroking her hair. Kept at it as Lucy got her breath back, inhale, exhale, careful and slow and deep. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

“Thank you, for telling me.” There was a pause, and she could feel Flynn working up to saying something. “I never liked… labels. I don’t think I have… I never chose a word, for what I was. I was only. Myself.”

“I preferred bi, personally,” Lucy admitted. “I—I won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone. If you don’t want me to.”

She nodded. Flynn continued to pet her hair, detangling it, his arm heavy around her, anchoring her. She breathed him in. Tried to memorize how he smelled. How he felt. She hadn’t said it out loud in so long, her sexuality, or even that she’d ever had a girlfriend. It had just… never come up. But now she felt like a weight had been lifted, knowing that someone else that she trusted knew, and knowing that that person supported her, and understood.

Lucy basked in it. In that mutual support, and understanding. "Thank you for the flowers," she added quietly.

Flynn's hand in her hair paused for a moment before continuing. "I'm sorry that none of us could be there," he replied, just as quiet, mindful of the cameras. "But I thought... it was better than nothing."

"It was perfect. And Candace took me out for lunch. So that... helped."

"Oh?"

Lucy nodded. "She reminded me that it's... it's all right to mourn the people you love, or the good parts of them anyway. It doesn't mean that you forget or excuse the bad things they did but... you're allowed to be sad."

She felt Flynn swallow. "With Lorena and Iris... I worry about that. That I'm forgetting the flaws and remembering just the ideals. And that's—that's not right, because they were human. They could drive me crazy. To remember just the—just the rose colored things... I hate that I can't quite recall the sound of Lorena's laugh. Or some of Iris's nervous ticks. But. I try. They're fading. But I try. And I don't know, maybe it's a good thing. That all I remember are the... the soft edges of them. Maybe it means... someday you'll remember your mother, without pain. Just with the good things. The edges all softened."

Lucy rapidly blinked back her tears. “Tell me… can you tell me, how you met Lorena?” she asked.

Flynn looked down at her. “If you really want.”

“I do want. I want to know more… you know so much about me. The journal. Our talks. I feel like all I do is talk about myself and all you do is listen and—and I want to do the listening for once. But only if you want to.”

Flynn seemed to mull that over. “All right.”

So he talked about Lorena. About meeting her when he’d accidentally kicked his football into her picnic area, spraying sand everywhere, when he’d been playing a pick-up game on the beach. About how she’d told him she was pregnant by putting it on a cake she’d tried to make herself and had burned it and he’d come home to find her crying about it. About how he’d stumbled his way through asking her out on a big date and she’d laughed and told him he could pick her up at seven.

Lucy’s heart broke for him all over again, listening.

At last, Flynn seemed to run out of things to say. Silence fell.

“I haven’t talked about her enough,” Flynn said at last. “Not talking about someone… it’s letting them die all over again. So… thank you.”

Lucy wasn’t sure if this gesture would be welcomed, seeing as they’d just been talking about his dead wife, the love of his life, but she kissed him, softly. “It’s what I’m here for,” she promised.

Then she pulled back. “I need to go.”

Flynn nodded. “I am shaving, by the way. You can’t stop me.”

She laughed, startled. “I suppose I’ll find a way to live. But in that case…” She kissed him one last time. “One to remember,” she whispered.

Flynn’s chest rumbled with laughter. She tried to hold onto that—his joy—throughout the rest of the week.

 

* * *

 

Flynn was idly stirring his bowl of cereal around when Rufus and Jiya sat across from him at the table.

“Hey, buddy,” Rufus said carefully.

Jiya elbowed him.

Flynn raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“We wanted to check in,” Jiya said.

“I should be asking you that. Jess didn’t kidnap me or lead to me getting stuck in Chinatown for three years. She didn’t do it to my girlfriend, either.”

Rufus instinctively reached out, putting his hand on Jiya’s shoulder. Jiya covered his hand with hers, squeezing.

“It’s just that I’ve been looking over the video files,” Rufus said slowly. “Including the ones with Lucy and the Rittenhouse agents.”

Flynn felt a little sick. He pushed his bowl of cereal away. “I hope you’re fast-forwarding.”

“To the part where she gets them to dish, yeah, but… ah…” Rufus looked at Jiya.

Jiya sighed. “Flynn, what exactly are you doing with Lucy in your sessions?”

Flynn tried to keep his jaw from clenching, his fingers from curling into fists. “I’m not sure how that matters.”

Rufus and Jiya looked at each other, silently communicating. Rufus rolled his eyes and looked at Flynn. “Look. We’re not going to tell on you if you’re actually sleeping with her. We just want to know.”

“Why? How is it any business of anyone’s what Lucy and I do in those sessions?”

“Um, technically, it’s Denise’s business, seeing as she’s in charge of this and it’s an undercover operation,” Jiya pointed out. “And technically it’s the business of Lucy’s boss…”

“I get it, thank you,” Flynn snapped. He could feel anger rising in his throat like bile and he knew that it wasn’t really fair to be angry at either Rufus or Jiya over this. It was a mess that he’d gotten himself into, no one else. “Look, I—if—Lucy—I didn’t plan on anything happening. I figured that—I wanted to let her set the terms. I told her that she could do whatever she wanted, whatever she was comfortable with. I wasn’t going to ask anything of her. So when she—it was her choice, to take things further. Everything we’ve done is on her initiation and her choice.”

“We don’t doubt that,” Jiya said gently. “But… what about when Denise finds out?”

“She won’t, Lucy didn’t download our video files onto the drive.”

“Yeah but if this does go to a trial the opposition’s gonna want to pull all of Lucy’s client files,” Rufus pointed out. “And if you’re sleeping with her then they could use it to discredit her. Say that she’s got a personal bias.”

“She’s not doing anything with me that she’s not doing with any other clients,” Flynn pointed out. “How is that a personal bias?”

Jiya put her face in her hands and made a frustrated noise.

“Look, I think you should ask Lucy what she does with her other clients,” Rufus said. “But in the meantime, you need to get those video files deleted from the club’s storage unit. They might have an iCloud backup, I don’t know. But Lucy needs to find that out, and she has to delete them. If she wants to save a backup copy for, I don’t know—”

“Why would she want to save a backup copy of our sessions?”

Rufus gave him a deadpan look. “Do not make me explain that kink to you. Don’t.”

Flynn put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“The point,” Rufus said, jabbing his finger at Flynn, “is that unless you want your sessions with her pulled into a congressional hearing or worse, you have to get them deleted.”

“I know you put extra stuff on the drive for her,” Jiya said. “Like Amy’s picture. If we put up instructions in there for Lucy, we can label it as, I don’t know, some book or something you’re giving her.”

“She barely got the video files last time,” Flynn said.

“Then it’s up to her to figure it out,” Rufus said. “We still don’t have the actual client files.”

“Stacy has those, they’re only held in the computer at reception, like a restaurant reservation program.”

“Lucy will just have to be creative then.” Rufus shrugged. “She’s clever, Flynn, she can do this.”

“Ask her,” Jiya repeated. “Ask her what she’s doing with the other clients.”

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t want to hear that?” Flynn snapped, panic starting to claw at his chest. “I don’t want to hear about the—about—about Lucy sleeping with other people. I know that you can turn it off, I know that you can mentally go somewhere else but I can’t, I’m not one of those people, and I really don’t need to think about Lucy doing that.”

“Oh my God, you dumbass,” Jiya hissed, planting her hands on the table. “That’s what Rufus saw in the other video files, you nitwit, Lucy’s—”

The bunker alarm went off.

_Shit._


	8. Chapter 8

They lost.

Flynn finally managed to shake off Wyatt, who’d been holding him back with a lot more strength than Flynn had previously given him credit for. And he understood, he did, logically, Wyatt was doing the smart thing but also—but also—

“If you’d given me ten more seconds,” Flynn snarled, turning around.

“Ten more seconds and you’d be blown to bits like the rest of the fucking building,” Wyatt spat right back.

“Gentlemen,” Mason said wearily, “there’s nothing more for it.”

“Like hell there isn’t,” Flynn replied, turning to head back towards the building. There’d been plenty of people in there, some of them, at least one of them—

Wyatt grabbed Flynn again, yanking him back. “Flynn, we have to go. The police think we did it, they’ll be here in seconds.”

Flynn watched the smoke and fire pouring out of the building.

The Taiping Rebellion was… messy, to say the least. Flynn couldn’t say he necessarily agreed with the fanatical rebels, but he didn’t agree with the authoritarian government either. But in that moment, he didn’t give a damn about which ideology he agreed with, or how Rittenhouse wanted to shape the outcome.

All he knew was that there were innocent people in that building, and he’d been the bomb expert, and he hadn’t stopped it in time.

It was on his watch, and people had died. Were dying, even now. Bombs didn’t always take you out right away. Sometimes, if you were far enough away from the blast they just tore off an arm or spilled your guts and you had to lie there and bleed out in agonizing pain…

“Flynn,” Jiya said softly as Wyatt tugged at his arm again. She put a hand on his shoulder, although she had to reach up to do it. “Please. Just. We have to go home.”

 The itch wasn’t leaving him, the shame swirling like a hurricane in the pit of his stomach, but he could see the sadness on Jiya’s face and the broken world weariness in Connor’s and Wyatt wouldn’t stop fucking yanking on Flynn’s arm like he’d literally drag Flynn to the Lifeboat himself if that was what it took.

So he listened. He went back to the bunker.

They emerged dirty and sweaty and, in Flynn’s and Wyatt’s cases, covered in ash and blood, prompting Rufus to take one look at them all and go, “did Rittenhouse jump to the third circle of Hell?”

“Seventh circle,” Flynn shot back, climbing down the stairs. “If you’re thinking of fire and blood, that’s in the sixth circle.”

“Thanks, Dante.”

“Get cleaned up,” Denise told him. “You have to get going.”

The last thing Flynn wanted to do was have Lucy see him in this state. He wasn’t fit to see her, not like this, when all he wanted to do was find someone to beat into a pulp, when he couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, when he wanted to just find a deep pit of water and sink into it until everything else was forgotten.

But it wasn’t up to him, and maybe… maybe Lucy could give him what he needed. He wanted to see her, as much as he hated himself for it in this moment. He wanted to see her and have her chase him out of his head, he wanted to know that someone, at least, would take it out of him for what he’d failed to do, the lives he’d failed to save, he wanted…

As ever, he wanted absolution.

Flynn showered quickly, nearly bumping into Jiya as he exited the bathroom. She’d been hovering. “I’ll be late,” he warned her.

“Do you want to—”

“Talk? Not particularly.” He entered the bedroom and grabbed a shirt. “Unless you want to be here when I drop the towel…”

“I’m not going to faint at the sight of a dick, thanks,” Jiya shot back, rolling her eyes. Her expression softened. “If you don’t want to talk right now that’s fine but… my door’s open. Our door.”

Flynn and Rufus were growing closer, but their relationship was mainly based on shared humor and frustration, not so much… not things like this. Not yet, anyway.

He searched around for a tie, decided he didn’t want to wear one, and just grabbed a white dress shirt. He’d leave the top couple of buttons undone, it would be fine. He glanced up, noticing Jiya still standing there. Which reminded him…

“Jiya, what were you going to tell me, before the jump?” The entire conversation had been pushed out of his head during the mission, but now it was coming back to him. Something about how he had to know what Lucy did with her other clients.

His stomach churned all over again. He didn’t want to know the details of that. He didn’t even want to picture it. Lucy wasn’t property and she could do whatever she wanted but that didn’t mean that he liked it, especially when she was doing it because she had to and not because she genuinely wanted to.

Jiya looked confused for a moment, her eyebrows drawing together, and then her face smoothed out, relaxing. “Ah. I think you should, um, ask Lucy yourself.”

“But—”

Jiya gave him an awkward wave and then turned and walked out, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Fuck.

He finally dropped the towel, found some pants, shoved his feet into some shoes and then went out the door, getting the car keys from Denise. His hair was going to be a mess despite his attempts to comb it but he’d seen a client once enter the club in a fucking track suit so really, who gave a damn if he looked a bit disheveled?

Try as he might, he couldn’t get Jiya’s words out of his head. Whatever she’d seen with Rufus on those client videos, it had been important enough for her to yell at Flynn about them.

Was Lucy—was she—was she being hurt? Abused? Bile rose up in his throat and he tightened his hands on the steering wheel until they stopped shaking. Lucy would endure a hell of a lot to see a mission through but surely she wouldn’t… surely the club itself wouldn’t let…

Oh, God, if any one of them hurt her, if any one of them touched a goddamn hair on her head in a way she didn’t want, he’d kill them all. He didn’t care if it ruined their mission or Denise’s carefully constructed tower of cards against Rittenhouse. He’d make sure none of them saw the light of day again.

He tried to steady his breathing as he pulled into the parking lot. Stacy couldn’t suspect anything. Oh, sure, she’d probably be able to tell he’d had a bad day but he couldn’t storm in there looking like a complete psycho or she’d be rightfully worried for Lucy. And he didn’t want to scare Lucy, either.

In, and out. Breathing in, know you’re breathing in. Breathing out, know you’re breathing out.

Then he got out of the car.

God, he hoped Lucy was in a punishing mood.

 

* * *

 

Lucy was just about to step out of the break room and head down the hallway to Flynn when Stacy stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“He’s had a bad day,” Stacy whispered. “Really bad, he looks like he’s going to break down.”

Lucy nodded. All right. Mission gone wrong. Or a fight with Wyatt. It was a toss-up. “I’ll handle it. Thanks for the heads up.”

Stacy beamed at her. “Oh, it’s no problem, just thought you might want to be prepared. Sometimes they fight back at you in these moods y’know?”

She did know. “There’s nothing Mr. Thompkins can throw at me that I can’t handle.”

After all the man had once kidnapped her. Another time he’d stranded her, and another time he’d accidentally set her up to get arrested by Nazis.

She was pretty sure, short of lobbing a grenade at her, there wasn’t anything Flynn could do that would throw her off.

She went down the hallway, entered the room, closed the door behind her… and paused.

Flynn was sitting back on the bed, idly staring up into nothing—and Flynn never just stared idly at anything. He looked up at her as she entered, and she could see he’d been in a rush to get here, disheveled in a way he wasn’t usually.

“Michael?” she asked, tentatively.

Flynn stood up, staring at her for a moment as if he wasn’t even sure she was real. Lucy looked into his eyes and could see the back of his head.

Oh, this wasn’t good.

She took his face in her hands. “What hap—”

Flynn gave a growl of frustration and kissed her.

This was the kind of kiss she’d always imagined him giving her, back when they were still on opposite sides, back when she’d felt guilty for even thinking of fantasizing about him. It was fire and brimstone, rough and insistent, his hands roaming over her in a propriety way he’d never dared before.

He was provoking her. She knew that, even as she kissed him back, giving as good as she got, sliding her tongue against his and pushing herself up against him to feel the tenseness in his form. It was good, she couldn’t deny that. She liked a bit of roughness, she liked wild, and she’d always known that Flynn could be the personification of that.

But not like this.

Lucy shoved at him. He didn’t move. She shoved at him again and this time Flynn stumbled back, surprised. She shoved him one more time, forcing him back onto the bed and then straddling him before he could do anything more.

“Tell me—”

Flynn growled, biting into her neck. Okay. So he didn’t want to talk.

Fine.

But she didn’t care what Flynn thought he needed. She wasn’t taking responsibility for his self-loathing and she wasn’t going to give him whatever punishment he was looking for. Once, she might have misunderstood this and thought Flynn wanted to control her, to take over, but she had felt him come undone under her hands too many times to be fooled by that now. He wanted her to push back, to make him obey her with harsh words and harsh touches and she wasn’t going to give in. It might be what he thought he needed, but damn it, she was the domme for a reason and she was in charge and she knew what he actually needed.

And she was damn well going to give it to him whether he liked it or not.

 

* * *

 

Flynn kept trying to touch Lucy, to grab at her, to kiss her roughly, and she kept not complying.

She grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands down onto the bed, pulling back when he tried to kiss her neck. She tilted her head, forcing their mouths to meet again.

Flynn tried to dive in but she pulled away. Leaned back in, gently pressed her lips to his.

Flynn felt something inside of him tearing and he tried to push farther but Lucy darted away again, waiting. Her eyes met his and Flynn tried to look away but her gaze was like fire in the night and he could feel himself shattering and he hated that he only got to have her like this, he hated that she was so far away, he hated that he could feel the ghosts shrouded around his shoulders—

Lucy kissed him slow, sweet, soft. Flynn shuddered, closing his eyes as he felt himself cracking open even more.

She released his hands, sliding her own slowly up his arms, to his shoulders, massaging, then up to his face, cupping it gently.

Lucy kept kissing him, just gentle and slow, until he tried putting his hands on her again—gently this time, just on her thighs.

She made a noise of approval. Flynn moved his arms up higher, to wrap around her, tug her flush against him.

Lucy didn’t say anything, but she ran her hands through his hair, fingers gently scratching at the scalp. He could hear the _very good_ , even if it wasn’t spoken.

He couldn’t have said how long they spent kissing like that, but it was long enough that he felt like he was about to come apart at the seams, like he was going to vibrate right out of existence. Lucy pulled back, but just her mouth, her forehead resting against his.

“If you need to fuck me, you can,” she promised. “But not like that.” She took his face in her hands, kissing him again. “Like this,” she breathed.

Her hand took his, guiding it up her stomach, past her breast, pressing his palm over her heartbeat. Flynn felt like he was choking on all of his anger, his fears, like he was drowning—

Lucy kissed him, tightening her hold on his hand but her mouth still moving slow, almost musing. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what—what you lost today or maybe it was what—maybe it was—but I’m here, at least. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Something? It was everything.

Flynn slid his hand up into her hair, kissing her back, and Lucy melted into him with a purr of satisfaction. He kissed up her jaw to her ear, whispering her name, her real name, into it, and Lucy kissed his cheek and whispered _yes_ and the dam broke and he was clinging to her, shuddering, desperate but no longer angry.

Lucy yanked at his shirt, apparently not wanting to get his clothes off properly since that would mean pulling away from him, and Flynn heard a button go skittering off into a corner. She roamed her hands over his chest, and pressed her palm to his heart for a moment, like she was trying to pass something of herself into him, or draw some kind of poison out of him and into her.

He hated that she had to see him like this, so raw and open. He was starting to taste salt as he kissed her and he knew it was him, he was the one crying, but Lucy didn’t pull away. She didn’t create distance. She let him hold her, and she held him in return.

He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to lose himself in her now, until the ghosts were purged out of him and he could stop tasting soot in his mouth, but Lucy kept just slowly running her hands over him, kneading at his knotted muscles, subtly rocking her hips against his.

Almost against his will, he started to relax. He didn’t want to relax, he wanted to be drained, he wanted—

Lucy kissed him more firmly, guiding his hands to her clothes. “Take these off,” she instructed.

Flynn, chastised, did as he was told. He tried to be gentle with her. The last thing he wanted was for her to be scared of him, but he suspected that he could do almost anything and Lucy would only get pissed off rather than scared. She wasn’t wearing much, just lingerie, but his hands shook and it felt like he had forgotten how to get his fingers to move properly.

Lucy helped him, shimmying her clothes off and kicking them away, her hands moving to his belt. He ducked his head down, mouthing at her throat, waiting to see if she’d pull away again. Instead she sighed into it, tilting her head back. Flynn pressed his mouth to her neck again and again, trying not to get frantic, trying to hold back from using his teeth the way he had before. Lucy brought her hand up, cradling the back of his head, pushing herself up a little higher so that his mouth as guided down onto her breasts.

He wanted to lose himself in her. He wanted to forget anything else existed, that a world without his family, without those lives he’d lost today, with Rittenhouse, was out there waiting for him just beyond the bedroom door. He kissed down along the soft swell of her breasts, lapped at a nipple, feeling it tighten, sucking it into his mouth and feeling Lucy shudder in response. Her one hand was still cradling him but the other was diving into his pants, drawing out his cock, stroking it with her long, delicate fingers, teasing him.

Flynn growled, just a little. He wasn’t in the mood to be teased.

Lucy got a handful of his hair and tugged sharply. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

Flynn shuddered, pressing his face into her throat. He nodded.

“Words, Michael.”

He swallowed once, twice, forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” he croaked out.

Lucy’s touch gentled, her hands petting, stroking. “Then trust me to know what you need.”

Anyone else he would’ve told them they were sorely mistaken. He would’ve laughed in their faces. But he wouldn’t have gone to anyone else. And Lucy knew, she knew the truth, she knew who he really was and she could damn well guess why he was so close to falling apart today.

Flynn’s eyes felt hot and itchy, his skin felt the same, and too tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed more into her, dropped a kiss onto the hollow of her throat. Oh, God, he loved her so much, and it wasn’t fair to him to place all of this at her feet. She hadn’t signed up for this. He was supposed to be supporting her, helping her, and to be her partner in this and instead he was just falling apart on her—

Lucy took his face in her hands, guiding it up so that he had to look into her eyes again. “Let me _help_ you,” she said, and she sounded wrecked when she said that, like it was tearing her open that she couldn’t ease his pain.

She’d always been too forgiving, too compassionate, too ready to sacrifice pieces of herself to give others what they needed.

But if this was what she wanted, how could he deny her? Saying ‘no’ to Lucy Preston was never something he’d been capable of, not since their first meeting.

Lucy’s thumbs stroked back and forth across the angles of his cheekbones, and he might have been mistaken but her eyes looked moist, like his pain was hurting her, too.

“You stubborn man,” she whispered. She moved her hand aside to kiss along his jaw as he sat there, frozen, aching. “Garcia,” she said, the word barely even a breath, spoken right into the curve of his ear.

Flynn curled into her at that, his arms wrapping around her, pressing her tightly against him, squeezing—not to hurt, but to hold—and Lucy guided him around as she shifted her weight so that she was beneath him, spreading her legs, taking his hand and guiding in between them.

“Touch me,” she ordered, and he did, oh fuck yes he did, his fingers finding the pulsing, slick heart of her and sliding right inside, as if he had a right to do this to her. As if he had any right to touch her like this.

Lucy kissed along his neck, his throat, his shoulders, never biting, the hard edge she usually gave him nonexistent now. “That’s—ah, there,” she ordered, her voice breaking as he curled his fingers just so and she jolted in his arms.

Flynn felt like the air had gone out of the room, but at last it wasn’t choking him, at last he could inhale, focused on scissoring his fingers open, on pressing his thumb to her clit, diving into her pleasure and losing himself and this, this, _this_ was what he needed.

Lucy wasn’t particularly loud, letting him know by little sighs and hitches in her breathing how he was doing. Flynn followed her lead, touching her slowly, trying to match the rhythm she’d set. Her hips started to rock up into his fingers, small noises beginning to escape her, and he wondered—if she wanted him to stop or—but she wasn’t saying anything and oh God, he wanted to see her, he wanted to hear her, feel her, so he kept at it, all of his aching poured into her, sliding a third finger in, bracing his hand to brace himself better, Lucy’s hands dug into his shoulders, her mouth falling open, red and slick from her tongue, from kissing him, her dark hair spread out underneath him, haloing her, and fuck he wasn’t worthy of it but he’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in his life—

Lucy let out a strangled moan, clenching around him. Her fingers tightened even more in his arms, and he knew he’d have marks from her, perhaps even bruises.

She looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes, her fingers coming up to run over his face, through his hair, almost like she was mapping out his features.

He thought that maybe that would be enough for the day. He was aware he’d been… he hadn’t been what she wanted him to be, he was aware she wasn’t very happy with his behavior, so of course if it was just about him serving her today that was fine, that was more than fine…

Lucy gave a little sigh, like she could read his thoughts and was fondly exasperated with him, and then pulled him back into her, her arm looping around his neck as her other hand dove between them, her legs spreading even more.

Flynn inhaled sharply as Lucy wrapped her hand around him again, stroking him. He had to shift, bracing himself on both his hands, frozen as he tried to look away from her face and Lucy wouldn’t let him. Her free hand rummaged around in one of the bedside drawers (the amount of furniture in this room was frankly insane) for a condom. “Keep looking at me,” she ordered softly. “You’re not allowed to disappear.”

He would ordinarily have made a quip about how he hadn’t quite mastered that superpower yet, but the words stuck in his throat—and besides, he knew what she really meant. He’d been trying to disappear into his head the whole time today and she wasn’t going to let him. She was going to keep him present in the moment, with her, and she was going to take care of him that way.

And perhaps—perhaps it was what he really needed.

Lucy settled him between her thighs, cradling him, guiding him into her. “Go as hard as you want,” she told him. “Fast as you want. I can take it.”

Flynn growled instinctively. He knew she wasn’t made of spun glass but she was a foot shorter than he was. He wasn’t going to risk hurting her.

Lucy dug her nails into him, kissing him savagely, and now the rough edge was coming into play, at last. “You’re going to fuck me as hard as you please,” she told him. “And I’m going to take it because I can and I want to.”

It reminded him of their many early confrontations, when Lucy refused to be cowed, refused to back down, taking all the anger and pain he lashed out at her with and slingshot it right back at him. _I can take whatever you dish out._

She’d not only taken it—she’d seen through it. She’d hung on for the ride, she hadn’t written him off or abandoned him.

Flynn gathered her to him and thrust, just the once, testing. His vision blurred at the feeling of her, hot and slick and tight around him, but he listened carefully, waiting for any noise of discomfort.

Lucy gave a little encouraging moan instead, kissing the ridge of his shoulder. “Yes, like that,” she instructed.

Flynn did it again, then again, until he started to get lost in it and Lucy was kissing him everywhere she could reach, showering him with touch, and in between she was saying something—something he couldn’t quite make out through the rush inside of him—

He was harder, faster, than he would’ve liked to be with her but it was finally that rough edge that he needed, no real finesse to it, just fucking her without any real thought, just instinct. Lucy kept chanting in his ear and he didn’t know what it was but her tone got across all right, encouraging, pleased, he was pleasing her and that was what mattered, that was all that mattered.

“Stay with me,” she instructed. “What’s my name.”

“Lucy,” he whispered, as if he could ever forget, as if he wanted to be with anyone but her. He was losing it, losing his grip on everything, and Lucy was holding him through it and whispering to him and oh _God_ it was all lost and he was free falling into nothingness.

He had just enough presence of mind to roll to the side but Lucy rolled with him, holding him, cradling his head to her chest and he knew what she was saying now, whispering to him, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay, I’m here, Garcia, I’m here.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy stroked Flynn’s hair, wrapped around him, holding him as much as she could as he shook in her arms. She wasn’t even sure if he was aware that was what he was doing, or if he knew that he’d been crying as he’d fucked her.

It didn’t matter. She was here, and she was going to take care of him.

Flynn wasn’t quite as touch starved as he’d been when he’d first come to her. Whatever was going on between him and the others at the bunker, it was helping. But she could still tell that in a situation like this what he needed was to hold and be held.

And she really didn’t want to stop holding him anyway.

She kissed him over and over, her own eyes stinging as she rocked slightly. She didn’t know what had happened on whatever mission they’d gone on, and perhaps it didn’t matter, really, what the details were. Maybe something had reminded him of Lorena and Iris, or of Josip, that older scar that she’d only just learned about, or some other memory from one of Flynn’s many wars. Maybe Emma had gotten into his head—she was good at that—or maybe there’d been some historical figure that hadn’t been what Flynn had expected, as Grace Humiston had been for her.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that in this room, he was hers, and she was here for him, and that was what mattered.

She couldn’t say how long they lay there like that. There was a timer going, as there was in all client rooms, separate from whatever timer she put on for orgasm delay and the like. It kept track of how much time was left on the appointment and would ring if she was still in there and time was up.

But it didn’t go off, and at last, Flynn started to breathe deep and slow. His shaking subsided.

Lucy continued to stroke his hair, to idly kiss him. She felt rather like a tenacious koala, clinging to him like this, but if Flynn didn’t mind than neither did she.

This time, when she bent down to kiss him, Flynn tilted his head and met her, his lips sliding slowly against hers, his tongue darting out as if he was scared to ask for permission to kiss her more deeply. Lucy opened her mouth, pressing into him. Flynn let out a small groan and then they were kissing properly, his hands starting to roam over her body as if reminding himself that she was real.

When she looked into his eyes, she no longer saw the back of his head.

Lucy let out a sigh of relief.

Flynn’s gaze searched hers. “Did I… I didn’t…”

“You didn’t scare me,” she assured him, her voice firm. “But you—you didn’t know what was good for you, there.”

If she’d done any of her usual tricks, she knew in her heart he wouldn’t have safeworded out. He would have let her push him past what he could take, he would have made her break him. And she was never, ever going to do that.

“No,” Flynn admitted after a moment. “I… I didn’t.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, kissing the crease between her eyebrows. “I have… I have… can I ask you something?”

Lucy nodded.

“It’s rather private.”

“It’s all right.” He’d fucked her several times now, how more private could it get?

Oh.

Oh there was—well. She hadn’t told anyone about—about what her mother had said. About her heritage. About how she wasn’t just Rittenhouse. She was _Rittenhouse_.

Guilt slid up her throat and Lucy swallowed. So much time had passed, and she’d tried to bury that knowledge along with all the rest that had gone on in her time as a captive. Nobody had ever hit her, they hadn’t starved her or violated her. But they’d trapped her in a room, in solitary, and given her things—pills, she was pretty sure—that made her weak and docile, made her sleepy. God knew what all she’d said or listened to while in that haze, until her mother had weaned her off it and deemed her sufficiently weakened, susceptible to doctrine.

She’d tried to block it all out. But if Flynn had shot John Rittenhouse—she couldn’t even begin to fathom what that would’ve done to her. To her very existence. And while the others might brush it off or not care… Flynn might.

Her family had destroyed his. Her family had created the organization that had taken everything from him. And she’d—or her other, or her future self—had the audacity to ask him for aid? To drag him into war?

What would he think of her? How could he even look at her again, knowing she was the heir to the tyranny he despised and had given his life to fight?

“Derica?” Flynn asked. He lowered his voice. “Lucy?”

She blinked. “Oh. I’m. I’m sorry.”

The corner of his mouth flickered upward for a bare instant. “You went away for a moment.”

“I’m here,” she said quickly.

She had to tell him, didn’t she? After all they had shared, after all the trust he had placed in her—

But what if she lost him?

What if he hated her?

“I wanted to know…” Flynn took a deep breath. His hand came up to gently rub a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Who… are you… do you sleep with your other clients?”

Lucy blinked a few times, recalibrating, startled. No, of course she didn’t… but, surely he knew that? Surely he knew he was the only one?

She struggled to think back. She’d thought she’d said it at some point, she must have, to all of them, or maybe that was only to Denise, had she even said it to Denise?

Lucy realized Flynn was waiting for an answer.

She took his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together.

“No.” She realized her voice was trembling, soft, so she cleared her throat. “No, I—I make it a policy, I always have, I don’t let them touch me, and I don’t do oral, and I don’t let them penetrate me. You’re—you’re the only one.”

Flynn stared at her. He looked like she’d just told him the world was flat. “But—we slept together the first—the very first—”

“I know.”

Flynn still looked like a computer that wasn’t able to make the calculation. “But you—why?”

Lucy managed a timid smile, her self-confidence evaporating in the face of his confusion. “I wanted to,” she admitted weakly.

“I’m…” Flynn seemed to struggle for words that described what he was, at least to her.

Lucy squeezed his hand. “I wanted you,” she whispered. “I didn’t let myself think about it, but I—for weeks. I knew it wasn’t—I wasn’t in a good place, after Wyatt, and I thought you wouldn’t ever… but I did.”

“How—how long?”

Lucy thought back. “I think around… the time before you… before we went to Chicago. Although Chicago did put a damper on it. I was very pissed at you.”

Flynn had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Well.”

Lucy tried to smile, but it didn’t really stick. “That’s all you have to say? Well?”

Flynn looked up at her, his mouth falling open a little, and oh. It was like he was gazing at the moon for the first time, seeing something to at last light up the dark. He looked like he might say something, but then he moved forward and kissed her instead.

Lucy sighed into it, her hands framing his face, and she wondered if this was how priestesses had felt when people had brought offerings to the altar.

Well, now it was out. She wanted him and she was willing to bet that he wanted her, given how gobsmacked he seemed to be and how he’d given into her so far. But that meant…

She had to tell him.

And now everything was going to change.

Everything might even be ruined.

 

* * *

 

Flynn couldn’t stop kissing her.

He’d never—he wouldn’t ever have dared—he was the only one?

That must have been what Jiya was trying to tell him, what had been eating him up with curiosity this whole time since. Lucy wasn’t doing this because she felt she had to and she wasn’t doing it with any of the other clients. She was with him, only him, because she wanted him.

No, it wasn’t her love. He knew there was a difference between sex and love for most people and he could accept that Lucy hadn’t given him her heart when she’d given him, well, other things.

But at least… at least her desire was genuine. At least he got this connection with her.

He’d been so close to saying it, overwhelmed with the look on her face, with how tentative she was, as if he could possibly reject her.

But he’d remembered himself just in time. A declaration of sexual desire wasn’t a declaration of love and he wasn’t going to ruin this or upset her by pouring his feelings out on her when she hadn’t asked for them. He wasn’t going to hurt her like that or be selfish with her that way.

So he just kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, and reveled in the fact that she accepted them.

But then Lucy pulled back. “Flynn?”

He’d loved how she was saying his first name, and the use of his last made him pause. He searched her face.

Lucy looked… she looked afraid. She was biting her lip, her eyes dangerously dark.

What was the matter?

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” she whispered. “Any of you. About—about when I was with my mother.”

Flynn’s grip on her tightened instinctively. He didn’t know what Rittenhouse had done to Lucy while they’d had her but he would make every last one of them pay for it. He’d heard from Rufus about what she’d nearly done, about how she’d been suicidal. And he’d seen for himself how that had helped her to dive into the bottle. Wyatt alone hadn’t been responsible for that tailspin.

Rittenhouse would burn for her.

“It’s all right,” he soothed her, pushing her hair back out of her face. Whatever they’d done to her, she could tell him. She was safe now. They’d never get to her again.

Lucy looked at him for a moment longer, then buried her face in his neck. “My mother told me—she said that—I’m—” Lucy took a deep, aching breath, one that sent her shaking in his arms. “I’m descended from David Rittenhouse. I’m not just a member. I’m the heir.”

Flynn froze.

She—what?

“My mother said it was… it was my birthright, my destiny, that someday I was going to lead Rittenhouse. As all of my family has. That I was… a princess.” The last word was almost spat out, despite Lucy’s attempts to keep at a whisper so the cameras wouldn’t pick it up.

His world seemed to be tilting, spinning backwards.

So then when he’d almost shot John—if he had—

And Lucy, all this time, she—

Did the others know? No, she’d said she hadn’t told anyone.

He needed… he needed a moment, he needed space, he needed…

“Garcia?” Lucy whispered.

She tilted her head up, and he saw tears shining on her face.

“You’re certain,” he said.

She nodded. “My mother had no reason to lie. She was so proud to tell me. Like it was some kind of… present.” Lucy’s face twisted, like the words burned her mouth to say.

“I see.” His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

“You—you don’t—” Lucy swallowed audibly. “Please don’t—”

“It’s fine, I just…” He felt a little sick, oddly—oddly hollow. The irony of it was just. It was maddening. Twisting. Inescapable.

He was in love with the woman who represented everything he hated, everything that had destroyed his family, his life.

“I need time,” he said at last. “I’m—I’m sure we’re almost finished with the session anyway, I—” He didn’t know what else to say. “I’ll see you…”

He pulled away, sitting up, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Yes,” Lucy said, and her voice sounded tight and dull. “Yes, I’ll see you next week.”

He wanted to comfort her, to say something, but there was nothing to say.

How could—why—was the universe laughing at him yet again?

He needed to breathe, he needed to think, to take a walk or punch something or—something.

Flynn grabbed his clothes. Lucy stared at a spot on the bed, her eyes rimmed red but no longer crying. Her expression was unreadable.

He paused, bent down, took the flash drive out of his pocket and slid it into the pile of Lucy’s clothes so she’d find it when she picked it up.

Lucy still didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

Flynn forced himself not to look back as he exited.

He made it to the car, somehow, and slid into the driver’s seat—and then the panic attack hit and he couldn’t breathe, his chest heaving but no air getting in, and he put his face in his hands and just couldn’t stop wondering _why, why, why_?

Why hadn’t the first Lucy, the one in São Paulo, why didn’t she tell him? Warn him? Why wasn’t this in the journal? Why hadn’t Lucy told him or the rest of the team this long ago?

Why did it matter so much to him?

He knew Lucy wasn’t with Rittenhouse, he knew she hated them as he did, he knew that her bloodline hadn’t stopped them from finding ways to hurt and abuse her.

But it did matter.

Flynn wrestled his breathing under control and started the car.

It did matter.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sat down on the edge of the bed. Her legs were shaking, shaking, she couldn’t stop shaking.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t outright rejected her. That was something, wasn’t it? He was just—he’d said he needed time and that was fine, that was… she could handle that.

Lucy buried her face into her hands. Oh God, if she lost him—if she lost him because she had been so stupid, so cowardly to not say anything for so long, if she lost the man she—she—

She knew the cameras were on and she hated that they were, she hated that someone could see her like this, but she couldn’t stop the sob that wracked her chest. It was muffled by her hands but she was certain there was no mistaking it from any viewers.

It felt like a slap of cold water to the face after she’d been staring at the impending wave draw nearer. What else did she expect to happen?

She’d slept with him. She’d held him, had him hold her, they’d talked, they’d kissed over and over again. He’d been her safe place after Wyatt, he was supportive and encouraging and oh, she was the ultimate fool.

She was in love with Flynn.

And now he was never going to so much as look at her again.


	9. Chapter 9

Lucy didn’t know how long she sat there crying. But at some point, the door opened, and she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders.

“Ah, Derica?”

It was Stacy.

Lucy took in a heaving breath, trying to wipe at her eyes. “Um, I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s okay. C’mere.”

Stacy sat next to her and pulled her into a hug. Lucy sagged against her for a moment, resting her head on Stacy’s shoulder. “Would you like to get Candace?” Stacy whispered.

It was probably a bad idea, but she missed her mom, the mom that she’d known. She missed Amy. She wanted that again, if only for a moment. “Yes, please.”

“Come on. We have to clean the room but I’ll take you to the front and then get Candace for you.”

Stacy helped Lucy to her feet, then stepped away and turned around respectfully as Lucy got dressed. She felt the flash drive in among the lingerie and hastily tucked it into her bra, tapping Stacy on the shoulder once she was dressed.

It hit her as Stacy took her hand and led her to the lobby, that she was about to be left alone with Stacy’s computer.

The computer with the client files.

“Wait here,” Stacy instructed gently, before disappearing.

Lucy shivered, still in her lingerie. She needed to get her regular clothes.

God, everything was falling apart. Flynn probably hated her now for lying to him for so long, for keeping this back from him. She hadn’t known how to tell him, or anyone. She’d wanted to pretend that it wasn’t even really true, she hadn’t wanted to look at it, so she hadn’t said anything. Now she was paying the price for that. She had no one to talk to about the truth, no one she could fully confide in.

But she could succeed in this mission. She could still help to take down Rittenhouse.

The moment Stacy disappeared, Lucy pulled out the flash drive and slipped behind the reception desk, finding a place to plug it in. Oh, thank God, Stacy’s log in for this computer was the same as in the other one. Okay.

Lucy clicked on the address book. She could do this. Just transfer it over…

She quickly opened up other files, trying to make sure she got everything. The financial records, proving this was all paid for, she needed that…

Oh, Lord, the client reviews, the personal memos. Definitely needed that.

The progress bar was mocking her. Halfway, only halfway…

She could hear the door handle jiggling.

Lucy yanked the flash drive out, closed the download alert box and stepped to the side, shoving the drive into her bra just as Candace and Stacy walked in

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , she’d gotten only half of what she need, if anything. Yanking the drive out before it was finished might have corrupted everything. And she’d have to go back home and put the drive into her laptop to see what files she’d even gotten and which she still needed to get. Ugh, ugh, fuck’s sake.

Candace walked over to her, eyeing Lucy’s disheveled state, her undoubtedly red, swollen eyes. “What happened?”

“The client didn’t safe word when he needed to,” Stacy said before Lucy could open her mouth.

Lucy tried to keep from staring at Stacy. Was she—was Stacy covering for her?

“Derica was upset because she feels it’s her fault,” Stacy added.

Candace clucked her tongue. “My dear. Come, let’s get you dressed properly. Stacy, man the front.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Candace led her back to the changing room, helping her to dress. “Have you ever had a situation like that before?”

Lucy shook her head. She honestly hadn’t. Once or twice she’d noticed someone wouldn’t be able to tell her their safe word, like Flynn had in this session, but she’d then made sure they wouldn’t be in a situation where they might have to.

“We do the best we can,” Candace said, grabbing a brush and indicating for Lucy to turn around so she could take care of her hair. Lucy held still as Candace brushed it out. “But a good scene requires proper participation by both people. It’s not one hundred percent in your hands, although everyone seems to think it is.” She made a scathing noise that somehow, without words, conveyed the sentence _utter plebeians_. “Your job is to take care of them but their job is to communicate with you. You can’t force them to do that. Nobody can truly take away someone else’s free will. So don’t blame yourself. Would you like me to speak with…”

“No, no, I think—I think he learned his lesson,” Lucy said quickly. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t even imagine how a conversation between Flynn and Candace would go. Not well for Candace, she suspected.

“And how are you?”

“I’m… okay. I was just shaken.” The lies came to her lips easily. Butter, she felt, wouldn’t have melted in her mouth.

Candace pulled her hair into a braid, moving her hands quickly and efficiently, but with softness. Lucy didn’t feel a tug or a snarl once. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Do you need to take the day off? I know you have another session…”

“No, no, I’m fine. I just—I know it’s not my fault.” Except that it was. “I was just… it threw me for a loop.” This was all her fault.

Why had she let her fear control her like that? Why hadn’t—of all the people surely Flynn would understand? Surely she could trust Flynn?

But she’d been too scared. She hadn’t liked it, and so she hadn’t wanted to tell others about it. Telling them would have made it real.

It was as simple as that, really. She’d been scared, and selfish. And, well. Now she’d lost the trust of the one person she wanted in her life more than anyone.

“Precisely.” Candace finished the braid and turned her around again, patting her cheek and smoothing out the shirt over her shoulders. “Have some water and rest before your next appointment, all right?”

“I will.”

Candace smiled warmly, the kind of smile that Lucy wouldn’t have thought her capable of doing back when she’d first met the woman. “Can’t have one of my best girls not taking care of herself.”

She hugged Lucy, who jumped a little, startled, but then sank into it, wrapping her arms around Candace’s shoulders and breathing her in. She almost started crying all over again at the feel of it. If she pretended hard enough, it felt just like her mother’s hugs, only without the extra taint of manipulation. Her mother’s last hugs to her had been rewards for good behavior, for compliance with the Rittenhouse way, and Lucy had almost vomited every time.

There was none of that in this hug. There was just warmth, and maternal protection.

Candace pulled back and Lucy managed to get her breathing under control. She felt half-relieved, half-devastated. Every reassuring touch was like knives scraping over her skin, because she knew she didn’t deserve it. Not with all the lying she was doing. Not when she could very well be destroying this place with every piece of evidence she gathered against Rittenhouse.

“Take it easy tonight, all right?” Candace instructed. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Lucy nodded. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Candace gave her a final once over, checking her as if Lucy might have gotten a scraped knee when Candace wasn’t looking, and then Candace exited the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

Lucy let out a slow sigh of relief, like air leaking out of a balloon.

Then she went to find Stacy.

Stacy was in reception, predictably, her feet up on the desk as she did her nails. “Hey.”

Stacy looked up. “Hey, you feeling better?”

“Much, thank you. Um… I wanted to thank you, for, ah, covering for me.”

Stacy shrugged. “It was no big deal. But hey, be careful, all right?”

Lucy nodded. “I will be.”

“Falling for a customer, y’know, it messes you up. Never goes well. Don’t believe _Pretty Woman_.”

Lucy laughed a little in spite of herself. “All right.”

“Hey, you want to get lunch? If you’ve got time before your next appointment.”

Lucy glanced at the clock handing on the wall. “I should have time, yeah.”

“Great, my treat.” Stacy grinned at her and got to her feet.

Lucy’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually be able to eat anything.

But she followed Stacy out the door anyway.

Only time would tell if Flynn could forgive her. There was nothing for her to do now but wait.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t sleep much that night.

Flynn had never done well with sleeping pills. He always felt groggy and disoriented afterwards and the last thing he needed was to be unable to get up if the alarm went off in the middle of the night. So like hell he was going to do that tonight.

He had drifted off at some point, he knew that, because he woke up, but mostly he just stared out into the darkness on a too-hard mattress on a too-small bed, and thought about Lucy. What she’d said.

It wasn’t… after the initial shock had faded, he wasn’t angry about her relation to Rittenhouse. It was upsetting. He couldn’t deny that. To know that the woman he was in love with was a direct product of the man who’d created a whole line of people, a whole organization, dedicated to controlling and destroying lives like they’d destroyed his family… it was a lot to take in.

Lucy wasn’t Rittenhouse, though. She hated them, hated them with a vengeful and consuming passion that had recently started to scare him, make him fear for what she would do and what lengths she would go to. He could get over that. It had taken him a few hours, but he got over it.

What hurt was the lie.

Lucy could have warned him in São Paulo. She’d had plenty of time and opportunity. They’d fucked, and not just once. Lucy had dozed on his chest for a short bit before forcing herself up and telling him she had to go. And not once at any point did she think to warn him? What about in the journal? No mention of that anywhere?

Nobody knew, Lucy had said. She hadn’t told anyone. But people in Rittenhouse had to know. If they’d used that—especially back in the earlier days when Flynn was just going by the journal, when he argued with Lucy constantly—or even after her imprisonment with them, as a ploy to claim Lucy was now a double agent. They could have torn the team apart from the inside.

And she hadn’t said anything. It was dangerous, for her to keep silent about something like that. And more than that… it showed she didn’t trust him. Not really.

If she had, surely she would’ve told him before.

By the time he woke up in the morning, though, he did know something else—Lucy had been entirely alone in what she’d gone through in Rittenhouse.

Maybe she hadn’t said anything because nobody had thought to ask.

He waited in the kitchen until Denise arrived for the day. “Christopher.”

“Flynn.”

Wyatt and Rufus had been looking at something on Rufus’s computer. When they heard that tone, Rufus immediately slammed the laptop shut and started to leave.

Wyatt looked like he was settling in to watch the impending storm, a sort of gleeful puppyish look on his face, but then Rufus literally grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off down the hall.

Denise turned to look at Flynn, folding her arms. “What is it?”

Flynn braced a hand on the counter. “Why the hell didn’t you insist on Lucy getting help after you rescued her from Rittenhouse?”

Denise frowned. “Could you elaborate?”

“I heard from Rufus what her plan was. She was going to blow up the Mothership with herself _inside_ it, that’s suicide. She was trapped with an abusive mother and Emma and God knows who else and you didn’t think to get her a therapist?”

“And who was I supposed to bring in?” Denise demanded. “She couldn’t talk to anyone without talking about Rittenhouse and the time travel and who would believe that? Who could I even trust?”

“So why didn’t you talk to her?” Flynn shot back. “Do you have any idea—”

“Did she say something to you? When you met up this week?”

Flynn paused. He wasn’t sure if this was his secret to tell. “Enough. She told me enough. But she shouldn’t have had to tell anyone anything, you should have known that she needed help, you should have reached out!”

“Can she handle this mission?”

“Who the fuck cares!” Flynn realized he was shouting and struggled to lower his voice. “The mission doesn’t matter, Lucy’s health matters!”

Denise stared at him for a long moment. He couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t tell if she was ashamed or unaffected. “Lucy seemed fine. I assumed she was talking to the others about it.”

“Well, that was your mistake. She hasn’t been talking to anyone. And while you’re busy focusing on chasing your tail with Rittenhouse, she’s been hurting, and nobody’s seen it.”

He pulled away, turning to walk back down the hall. “When she gets back, you need to talk to her. Get her help, I don’t care how. Maybe she’d talk to us if we let her know we wanted to listen.”

Then he turned his back on her properly and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Lucy curled up on the couch in her pajamas, nibbling on a cookie, going over the history reports that Jiya was sending her in the flash drive.

They were pretty basic: this is how history was before, this is how it is now.

But this time, the report was slapdash. Hastily typed, without care for grammar, no citations or links to articles. Jiya had been in a hurry.

It had to be that they’d gotten back from the mission right before Flynn had to go and see her for their appointment, then. That… that explained part of why he was in such a bad headspace. He hadn’t had the chance to think over any of it before he showed up at her door.

If only they could meet for real, being themselves, if only…

Apparently this time they’d gone to try and stop Rittenhouse from interfering in the Taiping Rebellion. Lucy scoured her mind, trying to remember what she knew about it. Not much—Chinese history was way out of her wheelhouse—but then she realized, it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

She wasn’t going on the jumps. Whatever she remembered of history was the changed version, whatever Rittenhouse did or the time team had to do to set things right.

Lucy shoved the laptop away from her.

Oh, God.

She couldn’t trust herself. Couldn’t rely on her own memory. What if—what if while on a jump something happened and suddenly she didn’t remember Amy? What if she remembered a different relationship with her mother? What if she—oh God, what if she no longer was in love with Flynn?

If history could change, and relationships could change—just look at Wyatt and Jess—then surely that meant that her feelings towards someone, her memories of them, could change as well.

She didn’t want that. No, her memories were her own, her will was her own, she had choices in life, she had control of her own destiny—

But not anymore.

Now, now it could be up to the will of someone else. Now it could be the result of changes that nobody could predict. A ripple effect.

Panic rose in her throat like a massive bubble that wouldn’t pop. She wanted to call—she wanted to call Amy, but Amy wasn’t there.

She wanted to call Flynn.

But she couldn’t reach him, either. She knew the phone number for the bunker but if she did call how could she possibly explain to whoever picked up the phone that she wanted to talk to Flynn, and no, this wasn’t an emergency related to the mission? How was she supposed to tell them that she was just having an existential crisis, it was fine, could they please put Flynn on the phone now?

It wasn’t like he’d even want to talk to her. He’d practically run away from her.

Lucy tentatively picked up the laptop again, scrolling quickly through, skimming. Rittenhouse had planted a bomb at an important meeting. Flynn had been the only one with the knowledge (much to Wyatt’s frustration) but he’d failed to figure out how to disarm it in time. Wyatt had been forced to drag Flynn out of the building, both men getting it by the blast as they’d run out—no injuries, but a bit banged up.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Flynn was a bigger man than Wyatt, and their encounters when they were on opposite sides had proven that when it came to hand-to-hand combat, Flynn was the better fighter. He must’ve been out of it if Wyatt had managed to drag him—or Wyatt had just been especially determined—but whatever the how, she thanked the universe for it. If anything in the universe was even listening. Sometimes she wasn’t sure anymore. If Wyatt had been just a bit slower, if Flynn had fought a little harder…

Lucy realized she wasn’t breathing, and she inhaled sharply.

At least he was okay. At least he’d made it out.

She got to the bottom of the document—and paused.

There was another note, this one in all capital letters, a few paragraph spaces down from the rest.

 

LUCY

DELETE YOUR VIDEOS WITH FLYNN

PLUG THE DRIVE INTO A COMPUTER ON THE CLUB NETWORK

ANY COMPUTER

OPEN UP THE FILE THAT SAYS TROJAN

STOP LAUGHING

ENTER THE FILE NAMES OF ALL THE VIDEOS THAT HAVE YOUR SESSIONS WITH FLYNN

THE VIRUS WILL SEEK THEM OUT AND WIPE THEM FROM THE COMPUTER THE CLOUD THE NETWORK BADDA BING BADDA BOOM GONE

DO IT BEFORE RITTENHOUSE LAWYERS GET THEIR HANDS ON THEM

 

Lucy stared at the text.

Jiya didn’t provide much explanation, but Lucy could connect the dots given the mention of Rittenhouse lawyers.

If… if this case went to court, then the files that Denise had from Lucy would be shown as evidence. But Rittenhouse would fight back. They’d want to discredit her, as the main witness and the only one from the club testifying.

And her videos with Flynn, or what she’d seen of them, were damning.

Lucy closed her eyes, as if trying to shut out a scene playing in front of her, but she couldn’t escape her imagination. They’d recognize Flynn and use him, point out that he was a wanted terrorist, someone who’d of course try and get a stupid girl, a stupid sex worker, a desperate slut to manipulate a bunch of high-profile government men. Oh, God, she could hear their words ringing in her head even now, the awful, unfair, sexist things they’d say. They’d smear the both of them, and she’d have no one to blame but herself, for getting so personal, for blurring the lines so thoroughly. The case would be ruined.

She had to get the video files, wipe them so that nobody else could get to them.

She had to do it now.

 

* * *

 

Flynn was making a real habit of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

There wasn’t much to do in the safe house when they weren’t on a jump, other than research history, and he’d had about enough of that for the day, thanks. Rufus was playing a video game with Jiya, so that took both of them out of the running for social interaction, Mason was mumbling to himself like a mad scientist and scribbling equations—something about destabilizing the timeline and paradoxes and wormholes—and Flynn didn’t feel all that keen on spending time with Denise. He was pretty sure she was monitoring Wyatt’s call with Jess, anyway. Jess was scheduled to be extracted and put in the safe house, but only as she got close to term. It was clearly driving Wyatt nuts, scared for the safety of his child.

Which was why the last thing he expected was for Wyatt to open the bedroom door and say, “you gonna bite my head off if I come in?”

Flynn flicked his eyes over to the door. Wyatt was shuffling back and forth, clearly skittish. “Not unless you deserve it.”

Wyatt stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I, uh, I just wanted to ask how Lucy was doing. I kinda heard a bit, what you said to Denise, and I thought…”

“I don’t know,” Flynn replied, looking up at the ceiling again. “How’s Jess doing?”

There was a pause. “She’s a trooper,” Wyatt said, surprising Flynn with his honesty. “She’s scared but she doesn’t want to admit it. She says Rittenhouse has gone to the looney bin. She doesn’t really care—I mean she does care what happens to the world, but mostly she cares about our kid. But she’s doing well. She’s a good double agent.”

Flynn bit back his retort about how she’d had a lot of practice. It seemed Wyatt was genuinely offering an olive branch. And Flynn was too exhausted to fight right now. “Lucy… she told me something. And I’m not sure if she’d want me to tell you, ordinarily. But I think—if I had to guess—I think she’s kept it to herself because nobody gave her the opportunity to share it, and she didn’t know how to just bring it up. I think…” He blew out a breath. “I’m just guessing here but I think she thought if she told us, it would make it something real.”

“Did—fuck did someone hurt her?” Wyatt strode over, his hands curling into fists. “Flynn, did somebody fucking touch her—”

“She’s fine, nobody assaulted her.” Flynn sat up, bracing his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands. “Trust me that was my thought too. No, it wasn’t about this mission, it was about her time in Rittenhouse. I don’t think anyone abused her then, either. Not—not physically, anyway.”

He watched through his fingers as Wyatt’s shoulders slumped. “O-okay,” Wyatt croaked. “So she’s—she’s safe.”

“As safe as she can be.”

“What was it, then? She got another family member she didn’t know about?”

Flynn grimaced. “Yes, actually.”

Wyatt gaped at him. “I was just bullshitting. What, a sister? Cousin?”

“She’s a direct descendant of David Rittenhouse. She’s the heir to the whole operation.”

Wyatt’s mouth dropped open even more than it already had, his eyes bugging slightly. It would’ve been hilarious under most other circumstances. “What!?”

“Apparently her mother told her, and Lucy doesn’t think she had any reason to lie about that.”

Wyatt ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Okay, so—so she’s the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Something like that.”

“And you—you told her we don’t care, right? You told her she can tell us? Because I don’t, I don’t give a fuck, and I don’t think the others will either.”

Flynn lifted his head from his hands, his mouth twisting up. “Ah, that’s the thing.”

Wyatt stared at him. “You didn’t.”

“I just told her I needed time to think about it.”

Wyatt winced. Flynn waved his hand in an _I know_ gesture.

Silence fell for a few minutes.

“My old man was shit,” Wyatt said quietly. “You probably already knew that. From the journal or whatever. But he was… he was just. He was _mean_.”

Flynn waited as Wyatt took a deep, shaking breath.

“Look I know I messed up and I think it’s because—because of him and what he taught me. But I’m not him and I wouldn’t want anyone to look at me because of him and decide—and just write me off.”

Flynn rubbed at his jaw. “My dad wasn’t ever going to win father of the year award, either,” he admitted. “My mom… took a lot of it for me. I promised myself I wouldn’t ever become like him. I—I get it and that’s not what I’m judging her for. I’m not—I don’t think I’m judging her at all. But—it hurts that she kept it from me.

“Lucy, or a version of her, gave me that journal, explaining all of the missions that we had, in some timeline, gone on to stop Rittenhouse. She didn’t just walk in and drop it in my lap and then leave. She had time to tell me about her family. She could have put it in the journal. And she didn’t.”

“Maybe in her timeline, she never found out she was Rittenhouse on her mom’s side. Our Lucy had her sister, Amy. Maybe in the original timeline Amy never disappeared, so she never had to find out that her mom was Rittenhouse too.”

It was true that the journal had never spoken about Amy’s disappearance or Carol being Rittenhouse. Flynn tried to remember. The Hindenburg in the journal had been noted as a ship that would have carried several prominent Rittenhouse members on it had it landed safely and been ready for travel the next day, and so Flynn had chosen it as his first target.

Perhaps, then, she’d just never known about her mother. Only about Cahill.

“I don’t know why Lucy didn’t tell any of us after we rescued her,” Wyatt added. “I’m probably not the best person to ask when it comes to what Lucy’s thinking. I think I’ve proven I’m no expert. But just—I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you and I’m not, this isn’t me, I’m not trying to do the whole… I just worry about her. So please don’t—try not to make the mistake I did, okay?”

“You’ve made several mistakes, Wyatt, I’m going to need a little specification.”

Wyatt flipped him off. “I offered her everything. I told her that before her, I’d had no reason to live. That I took this post because it was as good as a suicide mission. I put it all on a platter and gave it to her and then I yanked it back and that wasn’t right. Even if I didn’t have control over it, I chose Jess, y’know? And then I fucked Lucy over. I was an asshole, and the last thing she needs is for someone to pull the same bullshit with her.

“So whatever you’re offering her, make sure you can give it to her. Because she doesn’t need one more person yanking the rug out from under her. Not after her mom and not after me. Lucy doesn’t like to show people she’s hurting. I’m not sure why. I think either because it’s some—some twisted version of how she thinks she has to be the best at everything or it’s because she’s always thinking about everyone else before herself, I don’t know, maybe it’s both, fuck if I can tell. So if she told you that it means she trusts you so don’t—don’t take that away from her.”

Flynn looked up at Wyatt. To the other man’s credit, he did look kind of wrecked. Flynn didn’t know where Wyatt stood with Jess in their relationship, or what his feelings for Lucy were currently. But he did know that Wyatt had once been in love with Lucy, and Lucy was in love with Wyatt. And Wyatt wasn’t, at heart, a malicious person. Just a reckless and sometimes selfish one.

“I promise,” he assured him. “I’m there for her. And I won’t go back on that.”

Wyatt nodded jerkily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s, uh, that’s good. You good?”

Flynn inclined his head. It had felt nice, he supposed, to talk it out a bit with someone. Even if it had come out of left field that he was talking with Wyatt, of all people, about this.

Well, at least now Wyatt knew. Lucy wouldn’t have to worry about Wyatt rejecting her when she got back to the bunker. It was selfish of him to want Wyatt to work things out with Jess. Lucy deserved to be with the person she loved. But there was a small part of him that did want that, that clung onto the foolish, ludicrous hope that…

Flynn cleared his throat. Wyatt started. “Oh, right, yeah, I’ll just…” He crossed hurriedly to the door and pulled it open. “See you around, then.”

Flynn went back to lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

His trust still felt violated. It felt like Lucy didn’t trust him as much as he trusted her. That she feared she couldn’t give all of herself to him, that if this was a trust fall he’d let her crash.

That—that just wouldn’t work. Not in their scenes and not in their general partnership.

He’d have to find some way to prove to her that there wasn’t anything she could do that would lessen his opinion of her, and some way to find out just how far she trusted him.

He thought back over the room, over what he knew was in it, mulling over both furniture and equipment.

Took a while, but he had an idea.

Now he just had to wait until their next appointment and see if it worked.

 

* * *

 

Lucy paced in the room as she waited for the signal from Stacy that Flynn had arrived. What should she say? Should she apologize? What sort of mood would he be in? Would he even want to touch her, to fuck her? Or would he just want the most impersonal, basic thing they could get away with and then get out, no talking, no cuddling, nothing?

Oh, God, she felt sick.

And then it was time.

Lucy prayed there hadn’t been another bad mission in the meantime, that Flynn would be in a better state of mind. She hadn’t been this nervous about a session since she’d first started as a domme. She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself, and opened the door.

Flynn had clearly been pacing back and forth just as she had, and she saw him pause, half turned away from her, as the door opened and she stepped through. He was dressed more casually than usual, Lucy noted, in his black turtleneck and slacks.

Perhaps that was a good sign? A sign that he felt comfortable around her still, enough to be informal?

The haunted look in his face from last week had gone, and he looked a bit less tired. Lucy closed the door behind her, started to walk towards him—and paused.

Should she? Could she?

They stared at one another for an awkward length of time, enough for Lucy to wonder if she should just ask him to lie on the bed and tie him down so she could quickly blow him or something. Which was fun, sure, but not… not what she wanted, today, and it would have stunk of impersonality, of distance, of rote performance.

Flynn inhaled deeply, enough that she could see his chest moving and shoulders slumping, and she was about to suggest something, when he spoke.

“It made me feel like you didn’t trust me,” he said.

Lucy’s breath froze in her chest. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“I had to put… so much trust in you,” Flynn went on. “I had to hang it all on a thread. I didn’t even know you at the time and I just had to have… to have faith, that when you said it would be all right that it would be.”

Lucy pressed her lips together as she realized what he was saying. And he was being clever about it, framing it all in such a way that anyone listening and watching would think he meant their relationship here, in the club—but she knew what he really meant.

Flynn took a step towards her, a small, tentative one, like she was a deer that might spook. “And I’d thought that the trust had started to go both ways. Because… I was showing you how much I trusted you. You asked me, if I would listen to you, if I would do as you said, and I promised you I would and I kept that promise. So to think that you… that something so important, you kept to yourself for so long, you didn’t think to tell me about it… out of fear or thinking I wouldn’t understand… it felt like a betrayal. Because here I was, giving everything to you, and you didn’t think I was worthy to get the same in return.”

“That’s not what it was,” she blurted out. She realized her voice was probably too loud and she lowered it, taking a few steps forward so that Flynn could still hear her but trying to maintain a respectful distance. “It wasn’t—I didn’t want to think about it. I was scared that you would look at me differently because when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see—I see myself differently, too. And I didn’t want that, not when—” Fuck, she could feel her eyes getting hot and itchy. “—not when you’re the only one who’s accepted everything, not when you’re the person I feel safe with and I couldn’t, I was selfish but I couldn’t bear to lose that—”

Flynn moved forward, pulling her into him. Lucy buried her face in his chest, struggling to muffle the sob, her fingers twisting in his sweater. “I look in the mirror and I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered. “My whole family is a lie. Who I am feels like a lie. Like everyone looks at me and sees this leader, this good, this good girl and I’m not, I’m not good, I’m not better than anyone else—”

“You—”

“I shot Jess James,” she blurted out, her voice still at a whisper. “I shot him, I killed him, not Bass or Wyatt, me. I did that. And the look on their faces afterwards… and Wyatt still tries to act like I’m some—like I’m innocent in all of this and I’m not and I wish I was, I wish I could go back to who I was before but it was all a lie, my family and myself, me, I don’t even know who that woman was or if she was being her true self and I don’t know who I am now and I can’t—” Breathing was starting to become difficult. “I can’t—”

Flynn kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging and not caring, inhaling sharply through her nose as she kissed him back. Flynn had his hand around the back of her head, cradling her, his other hand gently cradling her elbow, like he was hesitant to touch her more intimately despite kissing her like he was trying to drown in her.

“What do you want?” she asked, desperate to make it up to him and to get off this subject. “Anything, anything you want, just tell me—”

“You’re the one in charge here—”

“But you want to be, don’t you?” she guessed.

Flynn swallowed, his hands settling gently on her shoulders, floating around them for a second before landing. “I always want you to be in control. You are in control, I told you that, and I meant it. But I thought—perhaps it could be a little more equal, this time. Perhaps I could… show you what I see, the woman that I know.”

“And I could prove to you that I do trust you,” she said. It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but judging by Flynn’s darkened cheeks and the rueful tilt of his head, she had landed on the mark.

Well, it was only fair. And she didn’t know how else to stop spinning wildly out of orbit. She was the one lost, now, and she was the one who needed a little steadying.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, taking Flynn’s hands and pushing them down to her waist, rolling her hips against his.

Flynn smirked briefly, sinking his teeth into her bottom lip. “I was thinking maybe I could get you naked.”

She’d worried about how Flynn would respond to her, so she hadn’t worn anything fancy, just some dark read underwear with her black silk robe over it. She’d kept the makeup minimal and hadn’t even put on heels. Now she was wishing she’d done something a little fancier, to wow him, because she did so love the blue screen of death look his face took on when he saw her in some really nice lingerie—but at least it made for easy getting on and off.

“I think I could allow that,” she said, feeling a bit lighter at the teasing tone in Flynn’s voice. She guided Flynn’s hands lower, onto her bare thighs, then pushed them up underneath her robe so that his long fingers skimmed up her skin to grip her ass. “Touch me however you want,” she breathed. She let go of his hands and moved her own up to his chest, his shoulders, feeling the play of muscle underneath the soft fabric. “I’ll tell you to stop if I need to.”

Because she trusted him, she did, and she wanted him to see that. If she was to fall, she knew he would catch her.

Flynn squeezed her ass, then used his grip to spin her around, one arm dropping heavily around her waist to pin her back to his chest. “Convenient of them,” he noted, his mouth musing along her neck, “to have a mirror right across from the bed like this.”

Lucy hadn’t even given the mirror any thought, other than the fact that she could use it to keep an eye on her client while she got out toys from the dresser. Now her eyes snapped up to it and she saw her own flushed face, her slightly widened eyes, as Flynn reached up and undid the tie of her robe.

The height difference between them was startling like this, and she could see just how large his hands were as he gently pushed the robe off her, as his fingers skimmed over her stomach, cupped her breasts, squeezed her hips. Perhaps another woman might be intimidated by someone so much larger than herself, but Lucy just felt a thrill of power. This man could pick her up like a rag doll if he wanted and instead he was touching her so slowly, so gently, kissing along her neck and shoulder like he was worshipping her, and even though he was doing what he wanted to her she knew that the simplest touch or word from her would still him. He was under her control, he was channeling all of himself into making her feel good, and that was a rush that would never get old.

She leaned back against him, putting her weight on him, as Flynn got a hand between them and undid her bra with a deft flick of the wrist. She almost laughed, knowing he might not have had such an easy time of it their first session, but thank goodness for practice. He pushed the bra off her, moving her hair to the side—Lucy obligingly tilted her head back and to the side—one of his thumbs rubbing a slow circle around her nipple as he sucked at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, making her knees weak.

Her eyes started to flutter closed, but Flynn pinched her nipple, making her gasp. “Eyes open,” he growled. “Please,” he added.

Lucy laughed breathlessly, opening her eyes. “Since you said it so nicely.”

“I want you to see,” Flynn admitted, sounding sheepish, kissing just behind her ear. His hand moved away from her breast and slid down between her thighs, rubbing at her through her underwear. “I want you to know what I see.”

A low whine escaped her as Flynn rubbed his finger up and down along her folds through the fabric, catching against her clit at the end but not focusing on it, teasing her. Lucy could feel herself getting wetter with each pass and had to struggle to keep her eyes open. This was different from showing herself off to a partner, different from her usual confidence. She didn’t like to watch herself—not when singing, or lecturing, or anything. But now she had to, as Flynn started to focus on her clit with more intent, his free hand roaming over her body.

“Look at yourself,” Flynn whispered, his lips catching against the shell of her ear. His hands finally pushed her underwear down, exposing her completely. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Her breath caught and she had to swallow quickly. Flynn curled one finger inside of her, moving slowly, deliberately. “ _Divan_. Gorgeous.”

The contrast of her own nakedness and Flynn’s casually elegant look, still in his clothes, wasn’t lost on her. She felt exposed, no fancy makeup, her hair just tumbling loosely around her shoulders, no jewelry or sexy lingerie.

And he was calling her beautiful.

Flynn added a second finger and her knees gave out properly, all of her weight on him now. His arm went around her waist again, anchoring her, pinning her to him as he started to thrust a little faster, all the way up to the knuckle. “We don’t look at you because we see innocence,” he whispered. “We look at you because we see competence. Look,” he ordered, when he saw her starting to dart her gaze away.

Lucy followed his instructions. She could see the flush working down her neck and chest, the way her body heaved with each breath, the muscles on her stomach quivering. And always, Flynn’s fingers moving in and out of her, stroking without hesitation, like he knew exactly what would make her fall apart.

“I was going to end it,” he whispered. “And you dragged me out of that pit. You threw me a lifeline. Because you will always do what you can to save people, you will raise them up, you are the most compassionate person I’ve ever met and no one else could have convinced me to save myself. No one.”

She reached up, grabbing at his shoulder, getting a handful of his shirt, digging her nails in. “H-harder.”

Flynn obliged her, adding a third finger, stretching her out, speeding up. She got a death grip on the arm around her waist. Oh, God, she couldn’t even feel her legs at this point. And the whole time she was falling apart she was looking at herself falling apart, watching Flynn touching her with his characteristic thoroughness, like he was laying siege, and she moaned helplessly as she shuddered and she gave herself over to it.

“I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me like this,” he promised her. “Only you. You might feel lost but you’re so much stronger than you realize, you were strong enough to save me, you keep saving me, _Lucy_ , I’d have been dead ten times over if it wasn’t for you.”

Thank God he was whispering low in her ear, where the camera’s couldn’t hear, her hair and the curve of her face obscuring the movement of his lips.

“You want to be in control and you should be, you deserve to be, you’re the expert you’re the leader they should all listen to you, they should,” Flynn assured her. His thumb pressed against her clit and she cried out, surprised, her hips jolting. “But that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Don’t think that we’re not here to support you, that’s why we’re here, lean on me, let me help you.”

He sped up his thumb, curled his fingers just right and she gasped out, “There, there—right—yes there—” and then he wasn’t letting up, oh God he really wasn’t letting up. She couldn’t tell what he was saying anymore, just that his voice was still whispering soothingly in her ear, a steady undertone as he touched her over and over and over…

She shuddered and Flynn’s arm clamped down tight around her waist, her toes curling and her head falling back as she came. She forced her eyes to stay open, watching her body shake, watching her hips thrust wildly, watching her mouth fall open on another moan.

Flynn kissed the top of her head. “I will worry for you. Because I care and I’m allowed to care. We all are. You’re our friend and that’s what friends do. But nothing—nothing will change how amazing we think you are. Nothing could dim your light.”

Lucy turned her head around and kissed him, unable to handle hearing—the things he was saying, the way they made her feel like she was floating—

He kissed her back, cradling her face in one hand, using the other to turn her slightly and help the two of them walk backwards onto the bed. “I’m going to fuck you,” she whispered. Fucking hell, she was going to fuck him until he couldn’t walk.

“Don’t suppose you know which drawer the condoms are in, then,” Flynn replied.

She lightly elbowed him and he let her go, allowing her to go to the right drawer and pull one out along with a small tube of lubricant. “Smug bastard,” she told him.

Flynn tugged her back to him and turned her around when she tried to face him. “No, you’re still watching.”

She passed him the surprise, watching her own face in the mirror as Flynn helped to guide her onto him. She hadn’t realized that her eyelids fluttered like that when she took him inside her, or that her cheeks flushed as she felt him slipping inside. Lucy let out a little sigh as she settled, feeling him filling her—a sensation she was getting used to.

A sensation she never wanted to stop getting used to.

Flynn ran his hand through her hair, kissing softly up her neck again. “If you don’t see yourself clearly,” he told her, “then you’ll have to see yourself as I do. Because that woman…”

“The woman in the journal,” Lucy hissed, feeling fear and anger and frustration clamping around her heart.

“No. The woman you are _now_ ,” Flynn insisted. Their eyes met in the mirror. Good Lord, he was telling her to look at herself but was he looking at himself? He was handsome as fuck like this, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes so dark they looked black, his slightly tan skin in contrast to hers, his form-fitting dark clothes, his large hands on her body. He looked like a goddamn wet dream.

Mmm, and he was all hers. She inhaled sharply at the feeling of power that brought. She wished she knew how to tell him how much that meant to her—knowing that at least in one thing in her life, she was in control. That there was at least one person she could depend on.

But wasn’t that the point of what he was doing? Showing her that she could place her trust in him, no matter what?

She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, kissing his neck. “You’re the only one I trust,” she promised him softly. She felt Flynn buck up into her and oh, Lord, that was sharp and sweet and so, so good. “To do what I say, to protect me, to have my back, you’re the on—only one—”

Flynn groaned, tilting his head down and she rose up, turning her face to the side so that he could kiss her, slow and deep, even as she started to push herself up and down onto him. He was getting all the way into her, almost like he was splitting her open a little, and fuck if that didn’t feel like some kind of stupid metaphor.

She felt Flynn’s fingers tangling in her hair and then he was yanking her away, turning her head so that she had to watch herself as she fucked him, using him almost like her own personal sex toy, her lip caught firmly between her teeth as she took him in as deep as he could go. “Watch,” Flynn whispered.

She did, oh fuck, she did, watched as she started to fall apart, Flynn’s arms the only thing keeping her steady. Flynn was still murmuring in her ear, praising her, and she could feel tears stinging her eyes a little because he did trust her, she understood, he trusted her and she could trust him because he would never, ever turn his back on her and it was too much because she loved him and she didn’t—she couldn’t—

A kind of strangled cry escaped her and Flynn growled, one hand diving between her legs again, his fingers trailing up and down the inside of her thighs. “Please,” his voice was a little hoarse, “let me tell you how you feel, how you look, do you have any idea, you drive me _crazy_ …”

Oh, yes, please, she wanted to hear that, she wanted to get away from the emotions threatening to drown her and onto safer territory. “Yes,” she ordered. “What do I feel like, huh, tell me, how—how it is—”

Flynn bit down hard onto her shoulder and oh, she was going to have a mark there. She shivered. She liked that idea, a little too much. He lapped at the spot in apology, soothing the red skin.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, like he was a little ashamed to tell her how much he wanted her carnally—and wasn’t that hilarious, and oddly sweet, that he could so easily tell her how much he admired her as a team leader but couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he found her sexy.

“More, tell me more,” she ordered. “That’s not a request, Michael.”

She would have said his real name but she couldn’t quite keep her voice down right now, not when he was literally fucking gasps and moans out of her as he thrust hard up into her and she shoved herself down onto him in counterpoint.

Flynn groaned, rubbing his index finger over her clit, his other hand gripping her hip tightly. “The way you fit in my arms, fuck, the way you smell, the sounds you make—the sounds I can get you to make, the way you take me out of my head, the way you make me beg for you… you’re like fire and honey and I just want to get my mouth all over you, want to taste you every day…”

Lucy clawed at his arms, struggling to keep her eyes on the mirror, her gaze darting all over, watching him touch her, watching his cock sliding in and out of her, watching his lips forming those words—

She’d let him, she’d let him do that, touch her all over and get his head between her legs every day, once a week wasn’t enough, _God_ she would she so would—

“You like to come first,” Flynn mused. “I like that, I like that you’re taken care of first, I want to help you feel good, I want you to watch yourself, I want you to see what I see, you look fucking perfect when you come.”

Lucy bit so hard on her lip that she felt a sting and then a burst of iron and salt and Flynn’s fingers sped up and she shoved herself down onto him and starts exploded in her limbs, behind her eyes, and she wasn’t sure she’d call herself perfect judging by the image in the mirror.

She looked wrecked.

She sank down in Flynn’s arms, watching in the mirror as her limbs went heavy and slack, her eyes fixing on Flynn as he sped up, his hands at her hips to help keep her balanced as he fucked into her properly. “That’s it,” she encouraged. “God, use me just like that, I want to feel every inch of you, please, Ga—Michael, fuck me, _fuck_ me.”

He did was he was told. He always did what she told him to. He went hard, fast, rough, just the way she liked it and she really wasn’t going to come again but fuck if it did make her feel like she was extending the high, just going and going and going and going until Flynn shuddered and buried his face in her neck and she could _see_ , she could see him coming apart and spilling into her and losing himself in her and she wanted to clench down around him and never let him leave her.

Lucy slumped back against him, trembling uncontrollably, as Flynn held her, running his hands over her. For once he was the one doing the soothing, whispering nonsense words in English and Croatian in her ear and against the hot skin of her neck.

With him holding her like this, praising her like this, she could almost believe all the things he said about her. That she was enough for the team, for this mission, for all of it, just as she was.

That she wasn’t broken.

Eventually he did have to slide out of her, although it provoked an embarrassing whimper out of her. She turned in his arms, pulling him to her, kissing him properly again. “I feel like I should remind you that you’re pretty damn handsome,” she whispered. “After all those pretty things you told me.”

“Oh, how awful for you to admit,” Flynn replied dryly.

“Hey, I had to fight off the others, they all wanted a piece of you.”

Flynn went bright red at that. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Nope,” Lucy said, feeling smug as she kissed all over his face. “Had to beat them off with a stick. Or a death glare, to be honest.”

“Mm, how kind of you to fight for my honor.”

“Anytime.”

Flynn ran his hands up her sides, then down her back, then up again. “I meant everything that I said,” he told her, his voice taking on that solemn tone, where his words were carefully enunciated and his accent slipped out more. “We aren’t looking for some innocent. We’re looking for a leader, and nothing you do could ever make us abandon you.”

“I trust you,” she told him. “I do, I trust you with my life. I just didn’t—I was so ashamed. I wanted to forget everything that had happened, everything I’d been told, and that… that was included. I was scared because—because if I couldn’t accept it about myself, how could anyone else?”

“You’re your own worst critic,” Flynn reminded her. He pushed her sweaty hair gently back out of her face. “As most of us are.”

His thumb swept back and forth over her cheekbone, and her heart swelled with how much she loved, she loved, she loved him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Flynn replied, just as quiet. “For my life.” The next words were barely even a whisper. “For my soul.”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely, sealing her mouth over his.

 

* * *

 

Flynn kissed Lucy over, and over, and over again, as many times as she seemed to need it. If they came out of this day with her even half aware of how much he admired her, then he would call it a victory. She should never be so hateful towards herself. Not her, of all people.

“I read about what happened,” she whispered. “On the last mission.”

Flynn went still.

Lucy took his face in her hands. “I’m—I know it might be wrong but I’m glad that you were okay. Jiya said how—how Wyatt got you out just in time and I just wanted you to know that… that you say the team needs me, but we need you, too, even if they’re shit at admitting it. If we lost you it would be—we’d lose our best asset, I think.”

Asset. Right. That was—that was what he was to her. Of course.

Flynn swallowed down the bitterness in his throat.

“And we are friends now, right?” Lucy gave him a quirky little smile, then laughed, nervously. “I mean. Friends with benefits, technically.”

Flynn forced a small smile onto his face. “Yes.”

“Don’t throw your life away,” Lucy insisted. “Please. You say that I saved you, well, I didn’t save you so that you could get blown up. I want you to come back, every time.”

He wanted to tell her that his life was worth nothing compared to stopping Rittenhouse, that he would give it either whole or in pieces if it meant he’d have done his part to wipe that plague from this earth.

But another Lucy, the Lucy who’d given him the journal—he knew why she’d given it to him. He knew the real reason she’d risked everything, including her own life and sanity, by traveling on her own timeline. And he didn’t think he was worthy of it but he had to honor that.

He would always do as she told him, after all.

For the sake of that Lucy, and for the sake of this one, this one who was so lonely and so self-loathing and so in need of a friend, he would be more careful.

“I will,” he told her. “I’ll come back.”

The lines on Lucy’s face smoothed out, relaxed, and she smiled at him. God, she was like pure sunshine. “Good,” she whispered. She kissed him one last time. “We’re, um. We’re almost out of time but. Good.”

Flynn held her as tightly as he dared for one second, two seconds, three seconds—

And then he let her go.

 

* * *

 

Lucy waited in the break room, sipping at some tea, until she saw Stacy stick her head in. “I’m running to lunch, you want to come?”

“I’m having a late lunch with a friend from college,” Lucy lied. “But have fun!”

“No problem, I hope it’s fun!” Stacy beamed at her and then vanished.

Lucy waited another ten minutes, just to be sure.

Then she got up and walked out to reception. On the desk was a small plague that read _Out to Lunch_ , just in case someone didn’t see the _Closed_ sign on the front door. Candace insisted on the club shutting down for an hour so that everyone could get something to eat.

She reached behind the reception desk and pressed the button that unlocked the door to the security area, then slipped through.

Lucy had no idea what excuse she would give if someone from security found her here. She’d never even talked to anyone on the security team other than a quick introduction when Candace had done her orientation. There were about five of them, two women and three men, all of them about six feet and looking intimidating as all get out, like they’d quit the MMA for a more relaxed line of work but still beat the crap out of people in the gym on the weekends.

She really didn’t want to run into any of them.

No one was in the hallway, though, as she slipped into the viewing room and logged in on Stacy’s account.

Lucy plugged in the flash drive—as she’d suspected when she’d yanked it out yesterday, the files had only partially downloaded and it was all a complete mess. She doubted the Rufus and Jiya could use any of it. If only the client files were on anywhere else besides Stacy’s damn laptop, but the only other person who would have those would be Candace and now way was Lucy going to get into Candace’s office without getting busted.

She’d just have to find a way.

The video files for Flynn’s sessions popped up and she opened the Trojan file. All she had to do was input the file names into the Trojan program and every copy of those files would be erased.

Lucy stared at the computer for a moment.

Once these were gone, all proof of her relationship with Flynn was gone too. And normally… who cared, if there was documented evidence? Normally she wouldn’t want files of her private moments. She wasn’t an exhibitionist.

But that photo of Amy was all she had now—not just of her sister but of proof of her sister’s existence. Wyatt and Flynn had grave markers, they had photographs, they had the memories of others. She had nothing but that photograph to holdup and say _look, look, she was here! My sister was here! She was a person, and she existed, and she was loved._

What if something happened while the others were on a jump and she forgot? What if she woke up one morning and felt nothing for Flynn?

Even if he didn’t love her back, she wouldn’t allow her own emotions to be toyed with that way by fate. Her emotions were her own, her choices were her own. She wouldn’t let anything take that away from her.

Lucy took the Trojan file and imported it onto the computer, then transferred a copy of the video files onto the flash drive. She’d buy a new flash drive on the way home from work, and transfer all the video files onto it so that it was separate from the flash drive Flynn and Denise had to look at. One just for her.

Now she would never forget.

Safely unplugging the flash drive, she typed all the file names into the Trojan program.

She watched, her chest oddly tight and her breath thin, as the video files were deleted one by one. Only her flash drive now held any proof that Flynn had been here, that he’d fucked her, that they’d held each other and whispered truths and secrets into each other’s mouths.

Lucy recycled the Trojan program so that it was off the computer, then hid the flash drive in her pocket. So, it was done.

She felt oddly like she was carrying something so much heavier than a small piece of metal and plastic as she slipped back out to reception and into the break room. Like the locket around her neck, it held an entire world.


	10. Chapter 10

Lucy hated these group work outings. Not because she disliked her coworkers. Far from it. And that was the problem.

The whole time she had to lie, she had to put on a face, she had to deceive them, and she hated it.

How many of them would have their lives dragged into the spotlight if Denise’s plan worked? The point of this was to try and have Lucy be the only witness, to keep it within the bunker family, but how well would that actually work? And even if none of them had to go to court, had their videos confiscated… what would happen to the club when a third of the clientele suddenly was arrested? When they learned that Derica, their friend, had been lying to them, pumping them for information this whole time?

She could still feel the sting of her mother’s betrayal. She’d loved her mother, she’d trusted her. Lucy didn’t want to do that to anyone else.

And yet, here she was.

“Where are we going?” she asked as Stacy and the others surrounded her on the sidewalk. She’d just been told to ‘wear something you can be active in’ and she was praying they weren’t taking her to a yoga class.

“You’ll see,” Paul told her with a roguish grin.

“I’m telling you,” TJ was saying to Maya. “They’re like. Part of some secret club or something.”

“Who?” Lucy asked. She reached into her purse and grabbed her phone, opening the camera, switching it to video, and hitting record.

“Some of our clients,” Maya said, sounding bored. “TJ thinks there’s like a secret society or something.”

“If you say Illuminati…” Paul warned.

“Men in power are always creating their little clubs,” Stacy said, with an oddly scathing tone that didn’t fit her usual bubbly demeanor. “It doesn’t actually mean anything. The whole secret society out to destroy the world, aliens in Area 51, whatever—it’s never as organized as all that. It’s just a bunch of guys covering each other’s asses because they went to the same Ivy League.”

“I’m just saying,” TJ insisted, “it’s suspicious, some of the things they say.”

“Like what?” Lucy prompted.

TJ had apparently been mulling over this theory for a while, because she launched into it with gusto.

Lucy’s phone sat in her purse, recording everything.

“And we’re here!” Paul said in a tone of relief.

Lucy looked up.

They were in front of a dojo of some kind. “What are we doing here?”

“Signing you up for a self-defense class,” Maya said. She opened the door and held it for everyone to enter. “It’s tradition.”

“Because you never know what those assholes will try next,” TJ quipped, leading the way in.

Lucy’s stomach twisted. “You—you bought me a class?”

“Well, we’re going to take it with you, it’s not like we’ll just be sitting there eating popcorn,” Maya said.

“Although that would be fun,” Paul added.

Stacy looped her arm through Lucy’s. “C’mon, Derica. It’ll be fun.”

Lucy swallowed down the bile. She was almost used to the guilt by now, pushed it back through reflex—and didn’t that scare her.

_You think I sleep at night?_

Flynn had once asked her that. Now she was starting to wonder herself.

Stacy tugged on her arm, and Lucy let herself be led inside, the others chatting, laughing, cracking jokes. Her other hand slipped into her purse and ended the video recording.

“And hey, you owe us since you won’t let us take a turn with that boy toy of yours,” Maya added.

Lucy glared and everyone laughed.

“C’mon,” Stacy said, “Leave her alone. You had that one guy two years ago, Maya, you were swooning.”

“I was not!”

“He looked like Anthony Mackie,” Paul whispered. “She was all over him.”

“If you want to try and take him,” Lucy said, “then be my guest.”

“Oooooooh,” Stacy giggled. “And the claws are out!”

“Good, she’ll need ‘em. Pretend the instructor just said he was going to take your guy, you’ll have him on the floor in six seconds flat.” TJ was laughing.

Lucy smirked at them. “All right. Game on.”

And still that guilt lurked at the back of her mind. The video now on her phone. The flash drive always in her pocket. The lies in her throat. This wasn’t the same thing as selling weapons to the Nazis but…

_You think I sleep at night?_

 

* * *

 

Flynn ran a hand through his hair as he waited for Lucy. He both loved and hated this room. He loved it because, well, it was now associated in his mind with Lucy. But he hated it because it felt like a prison, like limbo. The only place he could be with her was here, and they were being watched the entire time.

He was starting to understand Lucy’s claustrophobia.

Lucy stepped in behind him, which he knew not only because he heard the door open but because she was already speaking.

“I figured after how well you took care of me last week,” Lucy was saying as he turned around, “you deserved a little treat.”

Flynn’s mind ran over all the possibilities for that—and then froze once he actually saw her.

Lucy was leisurely dropping her robe to the side and… oh holy _fuck_.

Flynn’s mouth went dry and his pants got unbearably tight. How Lucy knew that he’d have a goddamn weakness for vintage lingerie, or specifically her in vintage lingerie, he didn’t know, but he didn’t care all that much right now because he was busy devouring the sight of her in red thigh-high stockings, with matching bra and underwear and an underbust corset that hugged her everywhere, showed off each one of her curves…

Lucy tossed some carefully-curled hair over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth curling up into a knowing smirk. The fragility of last week was gone and he knew that she knew just how much he wanted her right now.

“See something you like?” Lucy asked, sliding her hands down her sides until they rested on her hips.

Flynn’s fingers curled half into fists. He wanted to touch her so badly he could barely even think. “Maybe.”

Lucy shrugged nonchalantly. “Then take it.”

Flynn paused. “Are you—ma’am?”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Shall I make it an order? If you want me, then come get me. Fuck me.” She paused, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “And don’t bother being gentle about it.”

When Flynn hesitated a moment more, and then Lucy snapped in her most firm, dominating voice, “ _Now_.”

That did it.

Flynn moved, grabbing her and hoisting her up, one hand at her ass as the other dove into her hair, yanking her mouth up to his. Lucy growled into his mouth, kissing back savagely, her legs wrapping around his waist. Flynn turned, pinning her to the wall, pushing her up so that he could duck down and kiss her throat, her chest, his hands yanking her bra down and exposing her breasts.

Lucy panted, arching her back to push up into his mouth as he kissed his way to her breasts, her hands tugging ferociously on his hair. “God you have no idea— _please_ —” she gasped out, her hips twisting and rolling against his, like she’d just magically will their clothes away if she could.

Flynn released her breast with a wet _pop_ as he drew himself back up to kiss her again. He could literally feel her lipstick smearing his mouth as her tongue slid against his. Lucy’s hand snaked between them, yanking at his belt and pants until she could wrap her hand around his cock. Flynn swore violently in Croatian, biting at her lips. Lucy just laughed breathlessly, stroking him, her thumb swiping over the head.

He shoved at her with his hips, pinning her to the wall, grabbing her panties and tugging, trying to get them to the side since her legs were around his waist and Lucy didn’t seem all that inclined to move them (and he wasn’t all that inclined to let her move anyway). He tugged again, trying to get them out of the way—

There was a distinct ripping sound and hoo boy, he was going to be in trouble for that one, but later, later, he’d deal with that after when Lucy wasn’t chanting, “fuck yes,” in his ear and she wasn’t helping him slide inside her and he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind over her.

Lucy clawed at his shoulders, his chest, trying to get his clothes off without any coordination attached, her heels digging into his ass and the small of his back as he braced one hand on the wall and started to thrust. Lucy cried out, and he sealed his mouth over hers, instinctively thinking that they couldn’t make noise—and then remembering that they weren’t in the bunker and so Lucy could make as much noise as she wanted.

He pulled back to suck in air, feeling like he was inhaling fire, and Lucy jerked her hips into him, as though she was somehow trying to take more of him into her. “Pin me,” she ordered.

It took Flynn a second to know what she meant, since he did already have her pinned to the wall. But then he caught on. He took her wrists in his hand, pinning them up over her head, and perhaps it was the size difference or just the sensation of being pinned or both but Lucy made a desperate noise in the back of her throat and shuddered from head to toe.

Since he had leverage by holding her wrists with his one hand, Flynn slid the other one up her thigh, pressing it down, wider. Lucy breathed out something that sounded like a garbled mix of _fuck_ and _yes_ as she continued to meet his thrusts, and Flynn was pretty sure he was in danger of going permanently cross eyed. Normally he’d hate the lack of finesse he was showing, the feeling of being on the edge of out of control, but Lucy was encouraging him, and he wanted to give her what she wanted and if what she wanted was rough and reckless than that was what he’d deliver.

He drove into her, losing himself, and Lucy was giving all of it right back to him, taking him, straining not like she wanted to get away but like she wanted to feel the strength of him and she was kissing him like she’d been thinking of nothing else all week and _God_ she felt so good, slick and hot and tight and he wanted, he craved her so _badly_ —

Flynn bit down on Lucy’s neck, shuddering, and he felt Lucy cry out again as he pushed all of the way inside of her. He let go of her thigh, moving his hand between them, his fingers immediately becoming slick with her, finding her clit, pressing, stroking. Lucy made a perfectly unholy noise and he felt her clenching, arching as she came, and his world went white.

 

* * *

 

Oh, holy mother of God.

Lucy shuddered, her wrists released as Flynn clutched at her, kissing her wildly, messily. She could feel him coming inside of her, her thighs slick, and she felt boneless and relaxed and so very sated. She'd thought about this more times than she could count, the idea of him devouring her and just sliding into her hot and possessive, and Flynn had definitely far from disappointed her.

And if there was a bit of a mental  _take that_ at her coworkers, well, that was just for her to know. She'd meant it when she'd said they could try and get in with him. Even if she hadn't done anything to stand in their way, she knew that Flynn wouldn't have given them so much as a second glance. When it came to his heart maybe only a dead woman held it, buried in the earth with her, but when it at least came to his body, who he gave himself over to… she had him, there. She held him in the palm of her hand. Her, and only her.

As if she needed any more proof, Flynn had just fucked her like there was no tomorrow on her orders, when until now he'd been nothing but gentle and respectful. All because she'd said she wanted it rough.

It was delicious.

Flynn thrust into her weakly a few more times, instinctive, making her shake as his cock dragged against her sensitive nerves. She couldn’t feel her legs.

Hot damn.

Flynn got an arm around her waist and pushed off from the wall, managing to carry her to the bed where they just about collapsed. Her bra was on the floor, somehow, and her panties as well seeing as he’d ripped them (which, again, hot damn), so she made short work of the underbust corset and the stockings, throwing them to the side, then proceeded to start to work Flynn out of his clothes.

It was only when she rolled on top of him—and took in his wonderfully debauched look with his messed up hair, the sweat on his brow, her lipstick smeared all over his mouth—and felt more slick sliding down that she realized.

Flynn realized as well, his eyes going wide. “We—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I take the shot,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

“I’m clean,” Flynn whispered back. “But—”

“You’re the only one I’m sleeping with,” she reminded him. He was the first person since Wyatt, which had been forever ago, and before that had been Noah, once, and they’d used a condom, and before that… wow, her sex life had been pathetic.

Candace would pitch a holy fit if she found out Lucy had broken the rules like that, but it was just this once and hopefully it would go unnoticed?

Flynn relaxed, and she idly rubbed at the lipstick stain on his mouth with her thumb. Lord, that had been everything she’d wanted. Flynn fucking her against a wall had been her number one fantasy with him once she’d let herself acknowledge that she actually had fantasies about him, and he’d been oh so accommodating about being as rough as she’d wanted.

“You did rip this, though,” she pointed out, gesturing at the scraps of lace that had once been underwear. “Such nice material, too.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “I could apologize but I suspect that wouldn’t suffice for you, would it ma’am?”

Lucy grinned, working his shirt open so she could slide her hands over his chest. “Mmm, no, no it wouldn’t.”

“And pointing out that you liked it when I did that would just get me in more trouble, wouldn’t it?”

“Why yes, it just might.”

Flynn was struggling to hold in a smile, his hands sliding up her body, exploring the skin she’d just exposed by taking off the stockings and corset. “I get the distinct impression that somebody’s been making plans all week.”

“You’re my favorite,” Lucy shrugged playfully. It was a truth hidden behind the lie of playing the game for the cameras. She could let it out and Flynn would never know just how much she meant it. “Can’t I want to have a little fun with you?”

There was an odd flicker in Flynn’s eyes, the slightest tightening of his jaw, before he relaxed again. It was only a moment, but she noticed. Did he not like the idea of being her favorite, even thought—he knew she wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. But was it too much for him? Too close to a real relationship?

Lucy shoved her fears down and forced herself to keep her smile on her face. Flynn didn’t stop touching her, running his hands up and down her, almost like he was the one soothing her instead of the other way around. “So what did you have in mind?” Flynn asked, his voice a little soft.

He must have sensed that something had gone off inside of her, that she was starting to retreat inside herself again.

She forced herself to be in the present moment. In this moment, right here, right now, he was hers. She could hold onto that.

Lucy brought her hand up Flynn’s chest to his throat, gently stroking it with her fingers. She wasn’t up to fucking him just yet—she could still feel the phantom sensation of him inside of her, slick and hard and stretching her—and she shivered. That had been a hell of a ride and she still wanted a little bit to recover.

But there was nothing wrong with taking advantage of that time to coax Flynn out of his head, to get him to stop thinking a mile a minute. Fucking her against the wall had taken the edge off but she could still see the hamster wheels in his brain going and that just wouldn’t do.

Flynn’s eyes darkened as she gently rubbed her thumb against the hollow of his throat. When he swallowed, she could feel it against her fingers. “You trust me?” she whispered.

“Yes ma’am.”

She slipped out of his arms, walking over to the dresser. “Do you want to be tied up or left free?” She rather did like his hands on her, but seeing him straining against the ties and then slowly relaxing into them, the contrast of the fabric against his skin…

Flynn’s eyes devoured her as he propped himself up on the bed, his gaze trailing over her skin like a touch she could feel. “If we’re doing what I think we’re doing, it’s best if I’m tied up.”

“I plan on choking you,” Lucy said plainly, thinking it might be best if she stated it out loud.

Flynn looked like he might fuck her all over again if she’d let him, just for saying that. Lucy smirked at him, drawing the now-familiar ties out of the drawer. “You like that idea?”

Flynn’s smirk matched hers. “Yes, ma’am.”

She opened another drawer, surveying the row of various toys in pretty much every color, shape, and size imaginable. “And I was thinking, if you’re up to it… we could do that while I use this one you.”

She selected her chosen vibrator, balancing it back and forth between two of her fingers. It wasn’t too thick. She wanted it to be about the vibrations, keeping Flynn on edge while she did the breath play, something to make him even more desperate, something that would make those few seconds of choking even more of a short-circuit.

Flynn got a look on his face that was rather similar to the one he got when she’d finished chewing out some idiotic historical male or other. “You really do have plans.”

“I always do.” She cocked her head. “Think you can be good and hold out until I say you can come?”

“Well, since you were kind enough to let me take the edge off…”

Flynn’s gaze flicked down between her legs, where she still hadn’t, ah, cleaned things up. She knew she should probably do that, but she was liking the possessive heat in Flynn’s eyes when he took in the sight of her, marked all over by him. She’d have to remember a condom for this second round, though. Yes, she was on birth control, and yes, she trusted him and he trusted her and there was no one else for either of them, but there was no reason to tempt fate where Candace was concerned.

 “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she said, closing the drawer, grabbing the other necessary items, and bringing the supplies over.

Flynn obligingly finished taking off the rest of his clothes. “Yes, ma’am,” he added, a clear tease.

Lucy pointed the vibrator at him like it was a wand. “Don’t test me.”

“Test you? Never.”

She climbed onto the bed, following Flynn as he pushed himself back against the pillows, swinging her leg over to straddle him, her hands pinning down his shoulders. “You are easily the most impossible man alive, don’t you go pretending you’re anything but.”

“After how good I’ve been for you all this time? You must be confusing me with someone else.”

Lucy scoffed. “After you spent however long being the human epitome of absolute garbage…”

Flynn put his wrists up over his head in the proper position, and then gave her the most innocent face imaginable. “See? Nice and obedient. Clearly you’ve got me mixed up.”

“You’re really going to regret all this sass in a few minutes,” she warned him, grabbing the ties.

“I figure if you’re going to punish me anyway I might as well really earn it.”

“I’d like you to think very carefully about the time you, how shall we put it, gave our car a flat tire and then left us in the woods. Or the time you, to put it nicely, teamed up with the school bullies and told them I stole their lunch money.”

“Your metaphors are adorable.”

“I’m just saying you’ve already earned it, so maybe don’t push your luck.”

Flynn winked at her. “But that’s my favorite past time.”

Lucy tugged on the knot a little harder than she had to, just to make him wince slightly. “You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Then prove it.”

Oh, she was definitely going to.

 

* * *

 

To say that he was deliberately pushing Lucy’s buttons was an understatement.

But she was clearly having fun with it, throwing her own jabs right back at him, a smile repeatedly tugging up the corners of her lips no matter how she tried to be stern.

His skin was buzzing with nervous anticipation. Not that he didn’t trust her or that he was truly unsure. But no matter how many times you jumped off the high dive, there was still that moment of stomach-swooping vertigo at the top as your body went, _but can I really do this?_

Lucy had him test the ties, then went and secured his feet and had him test those. He’d meant it when he’d said it was best she tied him up. He was larger than she was and with the vibrations and the breath play… he didn’t want to accidentally buck her off or grab onto her too tightly in the middle of a reflex.

“If you’re good,” she told him, and it really was some sort of Pavlovian response now, how those words said by her in that tone made something in him uncoil and relax, “then you get to fuck me, and you’ll get to come.”

He watched as Lucy slicked up her fingers, her other hand massaging his thighs. “Ten minutes for each infraction. And thanks to your smart mouth you’ve had several.”

She slowly stroked his cock, which was definitely taking an interest in all of this, then moved her hand lower, massaging gently, getting him warmed up. That was something he appreciated about Lucy, why he trusted her not to hurt him with what they were going to do—she took her time, made sure he was truly ready.

The first orgasm had definitely taken the edge off. And he’d need that. He had a feeling that Lucy wouldn’t be satisfied until he had trouble walking the next day.

“Do you understand?” Lucy asked, her voice bearing that edge of sultry confidence that had made her so popular here, that made his blood run hot.

Flynn inhaled sharply, his muscles going tense in anticipation. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then let’s get started.”

Lucy pushed herself up and kissed him, the kind of slow, sucking kiss that came with comfortableness, that came with knowing you had time, the kind that said _you, yes you, you’re mine._

Flynn tried not to push up into it, to be good and relax, but it was hard not to chase Lucy’s mouth, to claim more of those kisses from her. But she clearly had a plan in mind and so when she pulled away, he stayed still, relaxing down into the mattress.

Lucy seemed so very focused on kissing along his chest, one hand wrapping around his upper arm and squeezing lightly (she seemed to have a thing for that and, well, Flynn might have started going at the punching bag in the safe house a bit more because of it but nobody had to know about that), that he’d pretty much forgotten about the fact that Lucy did in fact have another hand that she could use, until he felt her gently pressing in, and he suddenly had to force himself to relax again.

“Good,” Lucy murmured, her voice barely audible as she got down to his hipbone, sucking a mark into the thin skin there. It was really a good thing that none of the team had seen Flynn naked (when they had to change for missions Wyatt would plant his face in front of a wall and Rufus had mastered the ability to pretend that the other two men didn’t exist) because Lucy had a thing for marking him up.

She slid her free hand down until she could use her forearm to press against his stomach, keeping him from bucking up as she mouthed along his cock, her finger curling into him properly now. She was taking her time, a sharp contrast to the frenzied, desperate fucking they’d done just ten minutes ago, and Flynn felt like he was slowly but surely being melted down. Lucy had only done this to him once before but she was thorough, stroking until it felt like if she’d asked him to talk all he’d manage was an inarticulate garble.

He couldn’t see it but he could feel her watching him, and could easily picture the look on her face as she added another finger, stretching, really starting to prepare him now. It was a good thing he was tied down, he managed to think as the haze started to take him, started to make coherent thought impossible. The ties kept him feeling grounded, secured, as the rest of him shuddered and thrust back helplessly into her touch, feeling weightless and desperate.

Lucy made soothing noises as she added another finger, pressing up against his prostate and making Flynn swear loudly, his hips trying to twist down more into the touch. She kept at it, sometimes stroking the spot and sometimes glancing away, until he felt like the ties holding him down were the only thing keeping him anchored to anything, to his own body, the rest of him unraveling.

It was a good thing he switched to Croatian when he got like this, moving into his mother tongue, otherwise he might have been saying some rather damning things on camera. Lucy was still idly mouthing along his cock, lapping at the tip, but mostly avoiding it. Because she was clever and annoyingly knew that too much stimulation there would mean he couldn’t last.

He lost track of the room, of everything except where she was touching him and the weight of Lucy’s gaze always tracking him, always making sure he was where she wanted him to be.

“I think you’re ready,” Lucy mused, sitting up and grabbing the vibrator.

Flynn had absolutely no idea how much time had passed. He felt poised on the edge and like there were only the thinnest of ropes holding him back. He struggled to breathe as Lucy carefully slid the vibrator inside, not turning it on just yet, and then moved up to straddle his chest.

It occurred to him that Lucy had rather slender hands, and he hadn’t seen her grab the collar. How she was going to actually manage this, he wasn’t sure. He’d never done this with Lorena and Josip’s hands had been, well, a lot larger.

But Lucy didn’t look deterred at all. She looked hungry, excited, like she was going to eat him alive.

Flynn was completely okay with that.

Lucy seemed to notice the instinctive tensing in his limbs, because she bent down and kissed him again, her hand sliding up to gently stroke his throat. Flynn inhaled deeply, then exhaled, relaxing into her touch. Letting it anchor him, as she’d anchored him here, and throughout time, ever since she’d walked into that bar.

“Remember,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth, “you’re mine right now. That means I get to play with you as long as I want. Are you okay with that?”

If there was a time for him to safe word out, it would be now. She was giving him that chance. He could say the word and Lucy would stop, retreat, possibly just have him fuck her but maybe not even that. She’d renegotiate what they were doing.

But he didn’t want to. She’d put all of her trust in him last week and he was putting all of his trust in her now and he could feel it like a livewire between them, a taut thread and he wasn’t going to sever it for anything.

Flynn swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth. “Yes, ma’am, I’m okay with that.”

Lucy gently wiped some sweat off his forehead, pushing his hair back and kissing his temple. “All right then. Not until I say you may.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy kissed him, her mouth pressing in fast and hard enough to possibly bruise him, and then his entire body _jolted_ as he felt vibrations shoot up through him and oh, oh fuck, how had he not noticed she had a goddamn remote control attached to that thing!?

Lucy looked positively gleeful as he made a startled noise, thrusting instinctively up into nothing, his eyes flying wide open. “You are just too much fun,” she murmured, two fingers hooking underneath his chin to tilt his head back.

Flynn felt fire igniting in his blood, his stomach, his spine as the vibrations kept up and he struggled a bit, unable to get proper leverage to thrust down onto it when he was tied down like this.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Lucy tisked, pressing a button that lowered the intensity of the vibrations. “You don’t move unless I say you may.”

She placed her hand on his throat just underneath his chin, pressing down lightly at the juncture of her thumb and forefinger. “In fact…” Flynn felt something inside of him short-circuit, “…you don’t breathe unless I say you may.”

Flynn could, technically, still breathe like this. He could even talk, he thought, if he wanted to. But it didn’t _feel_ like he could. Lucy upped the vibrations again and then pressed down with her hand and Flynn’s breath stuttered in his chest.

“You don’t breathe when I do this,” Lucy instructed.

Oh God, yes, yes _ma’am_.

Her hand resting on his throat was bad enough, the vibrations shooting up inside of him were bad enough, the feeling of being stretched and full was bad enough, but all of that and—and the rhythmic pressing down, forcing him to wait and hold his breath even if only for a few seconds, the feeling that maybe just maybe she was or could cut off his oxygen, the way she stared down at him the whole time like a goddamn queen on a throne—

Flynn wasn’t even floating anymore, he was so sharply in the present moment he couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t evade the sensations shooting up and down through him, making him shake and jerk, oh God oh _God_. And Lucy was having her fun with the remote, lowering the vibrations, raising them again, catching him by surprise so that every time he thought he had a handle on it she was sending him into a tailspin all over again. Pressing down, forcing him to gasp for breath, feeling like his whole life his whole existence was in her hands and knowing somewhere, deep down, that he could let her toy with him like this because she’d never let him actually fall.

He was gasping, staring unseeing at the ceiling, making rather embarrassing and incoherent noises, when he realized the weight was off his chest.

Lucy had moved away.

Flynn strained to see but Lucy upped the vibrations again and his toes curled, his wrists and ankles pulling at the ties, making them go taut, and oh fuck oh fuck he really _really_ wasn’t going to make it much longer holy fucking—

The weight was back on his chest and he had to blink the sweat out of his eyes to see Lucy properly. She held up the collar from before. “Tilt your head back.”

Flynn did as he was told and felt the collar locking into place, pressing down lightly, not as firm as Lucy’s hand but still there, still ever-present. He swallowed hard to feel it tighten and his vision blurred. Oh holy fuck.

Lucy slid down his body, and he felt his feet being untied, then—the vibrations weren’t stopping but he felt her sliding something onto his cock, a condom his brain managed to remember, and then—oh Jesus _Christ—_

Lucy was seating herself on him, leisurely, almost, like he wasn’t about two seconds away from coming until he blacked out. “Fuck me,” she said, lightly.

He couldn’t get his mouth to form any words, not even words of assent, but he thrust up into her. Lucy moaned approvingly, and now he had his legs he could brace himself and do it properly, catching her by surprise when he did it again, and she was murmuring words of praise, telling him _yes there right there_ and he knew he was greedy after earlier but he wanted to touch her again, he wanted his hands on her, he wanted so badly—

“Yes,” Lucy said, and he realized he’d been begging out loud. She reached up and undid the ties and then he was grabbing her, kissing her, all of it too much and he heard a strange noise somewhere dimly like in the back of his mind and Lucy was biting into his mouth and whispering, “Now, now you can,” and he felt like he was feeling everything at once, except that everything was Lucy.

She took care of him afterwards, he knew that she did, because Lucy always did. But he wasn’t there, really, he was just drifting in a pleasant soup of endorphins, his limbs heavy to the point of being practically numb. She was saying something… he scrambled to understand the words. _Perfect for me_ , she was saying. Praising him.

“ _Tvoj_ ,” he managed.

Lucy didn’t understand what that meant, he could tell, but she kissed him softly anyway. It was all right. He’d probably tell her later in English. Probably.

 

* * *

 

Lucy lay curled into Flynn’s side, her arm draped over his chest, as Flynn slowly came back to himself. She’d really worked him over today, pushing him to the limit, and it had been nothing short of satisfying. She was going to keep the images from today in her mind’s eye for the rest of her life.

Flynn had said at the beginning of this that there were things he didn’t do unless he was truly comfortable with his dom, unless he really trusted them. And maybe it was a bit possessive of her but she had done all of that with him, she’d taken him apart like that and nobody, nobody else got to. Nobody else had his trust like that.

It made her feel like there was a content tiger inside of her chest, curled up, purring satisfied.

Nobody else got to see him this mindless. Not at the club, and nowhere else, either. Just her.

She watched as Flynn was able to stretch his limbs again, as his eyes went from dazed to sharp and alert. His first movement, she noticed, was to wrap his arm around her and press her more firmly against his side.

Touchy, until the end. She wasn’t sure if physical affection was the love language that Flynn showed towards others the most but it sure was how he loved receiving it from people.

She lazily stroked his chest, kissing his shoulder. Flynn squeezed her gently in response, but it seemed his ability to speak—or at least speak in English—wasn’t quite back online yet, because he stayed silent.

Lucy had no problem with that. She just kept touching him, giving him praise with her body if not with her words. He’d been good for her today, so good, and she hated how it made her heart squeeze, how it made her want to grip him tight and never let go because where else was she going to find someone who had such faith in her, such trust, who made her feel so fulfilled and satisfied and in control and safe?

And she was well aware that she didn’t just mean in the bedroom.

At last, Flynn spoke. “Denise told me to tell you,” he whispered, “that we just need the rest of the client files and then we can extract you. She’s started moving things on her end. Your part’s almost done.”

Lucy swallowed. “I tried,” she admitted. “I haven’t done it yet. But I will.”

“I know,” Flynn assured her. His hand came up to play through her hair. “Can you manage it by the time we meet again?”

“I can try.”

“Once you get them to me, that’ll be it.”

His voice was heavy, and Lucy’s stomach sank.

Once she got him the files, there would be no excuse for her to stay here, which meant no excuse for Flynn to come in, which meant no excuse to sleep with him.

And she wasn’t a fool, she didn’t think that Flynn had been forcing himself to sleep with her. But she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking he’d continue this once they were back at the bunker, or wherever their new safe house was. This had been something he needed, something she gave to him. A release, a psychological boost.

She’d been his lifeline throughout this whole thing, and she understood that. But that didn’t mean—having someone as a kind of guide or whatever, that wasn’t—that wasn’t the same as—

She wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking this was more than it was. He wouldn’t, didn’t, actually want a life with her. They’d only just barely become something like friends when this had all started. She couldn’t delude herself.

But now, the mission that she’d been desperately hoping would end, she now also wished would go on. Because she was selfish, and when she was with Flynn like this, she felt like she could maybe be the person she wanted to be, the person she felt she had to be for the fight against Rittenhouse. When she was with him she felt safe, and valued.

“I do have something for you,” she told him. “it’s in the modesty panel at the back of the corset.”

“What is it?”

“Another drive. It just has some personal things on it. If you could give it to Rufus and ask him to put it safely on the Lifeboat for me… in whatever place he keeps Denise’s drive, that would be—I’d appreciate that.”

Flynn stroked her hair, nodding. “I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Flynn looked down at her, having to crane his neck a bit. “You’ll get those files. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She pushed herself up and kissed him softly, because she was weak, and a stupid girl, and hopeless. “I’ll get them,” she promised.

Then this would all be over. Like ripping off a band-aid.

And she’d keep going on. That was what she always did, when the things, the people, she cared about were taken from her. She found a way to keep going on.


	11. Chapter 11

Flynn didn’t know what he’d expected when Lucy walked into the client room, but launching herself at him and kissing him was nowhere near the list.

He kissed her back because of course he did, getting his arms around her waist to hold her against him as Lucy got up on her toes and kissed him over and over. He could feel she wasn’t wearing anything under her robe—was she in an impatient mood? No, it didn’t feel like that…

Something was off, something was very off, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

“Kiss me,” Lucy pressed into his mouth. “Just—just keep—kiss me, don’t stop.”

Well, all right then. He was technically supposed to be following her orders.

He kissed her as she worked his clothes off, as she undid her robe, letting it all fall away and pulling him on top of her onto the bed. He tried to brace himself on his hands but Lucy yanked at him until he put his weight on her. What was going on?

Well, they had to have some kind of sexual activity or someone was going to get suspicious. He started to pull away, to move down her body to get his mouth between her legs—

“No,” Lucy whispered, pulling her back up to him. “No, you’re too—that’s too far away, please—”

Flynn kissed her again, letting her wrap himself around him. If this was what she wanted then of course, of course, he only wanted to give her what would make her happy.

Lucy wound herself around him, and over time her kisses started to grow less frantic. “What is it?” he whispered. “ _Draga_ , what is it?”

Oh, fuck, he hadn’t meant for that endearment to slip out. Luckily Lucy didn’t seem to notice. “It’s one of our last times,” she replied. “And I just—and I still haven’t—I haven’t gotten the files, I tried but it’s like Stacy knows I’m after them or something because she’s even having lunch at her desk now—”

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay, you’ll get there, you’re doing well,” he promised.

Lucy made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded dangerously close to a sob and he kissed her, slow and deep, holding her—and he kept kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her, until she stopped trembling in his arms and he could press her into the mattress and slow it down.

“What do you want?” he asked her. “Lucy, what do you want?”

He brought his hand up to brush his thumb across her cheek. Lucy took his hand, kissing it, the fingertips, the knuckles, his palm. “Just this,” she whispered. “Just hold me, please.”

He could do that.

He held her, and kissed her, over and over, until Lucy grew heavy in his arms and her tears dried and she slept.

And then he kept holding her.

 

* * *

 

Lucy woke up feeling wonderfully warm. “Back in the land of the living?” she heard her pillow rumble.

She looked up.

Flynn smiled gently down at her, watching her as she apparently lay on his chest. “You had a hard week,” he whispered. It wasn’t a question.

She pushed herself up and kissed him, and she knew that he knew it was an admission. “How long was I asleep?”

“Just twenty minutes.”

“Mm, good, plenty of time for me to do this…” She pushed him down onto the bed and kissed him some more.

What? He was a very good kisser.

They ended up with Flynn’s head in her lap, as she played with his hands, as he watched her with softly lit eyes. “Tell me,” he whispered.

She would much rather keep touching him all over, would much rather nap on his chest again, and kiss his hands, and run her fingers through his hair, and watch his smile.

Flynn tapped her nose lightly with his index finger. “Hey, c’mon. Talk to me.”

It reminded her of Flynn telling her to come to his room instead of drowning in vodka, of Flynn opening the door and letting her in with a soft, silent, _after you_ , of Flynn bringing her coffee in the morning and making jokes (and her own dismay because hey, she was a damn good lover but gentle and responsive? Wrong number) and smiling at her like sunshine.

She swallowed.

If she couldn’t talk to him… then who could she talk to?

“Do you know why I chose the name Derica?” Lucy asked.

She could feel herself trembling on the inside, like the beginnings of an earthquake. “It means ‘beloved leader’. I looked it up. And—and the name Amy means… means beloved…”

Flynn’s gaze softened. He looked about to say something, but she plowed forward.

“Wallace was for my father. The real one, the one that I knew, the one who raised me. And I—I lost the both of them. Henry, if he’s dead or alive, either way, he never knew me. He never… he never spent hours playing tea party with me, or standing underneath trees to catch me if I climbed too high and fell, or pushing me on the swing. He never read stories out loud to me. He existed but not for me, and I didn’t exist for him. I lost him just like I lost Amy.

“And the more—the more we fight the more I fear that I’ll never get them back. That we’ve changed timelines so much and messed with it all so much that it’s too big of a knot to untangle. And so I think, if I can’t get them back I can at least avenge them. Especially Amy. Because she deserved to exist. That was taken from her and it’s—it’s so unfair that it chokes me sometimes. Like I can’t breathe, like my claustrophobia only worse because it’s inside of me instead of crushing around me.

“Because I can’t even do that right. I can’t even do this stupid undercover assignment right, I can’t even manage that. I should’ve been in and out of here in half the time and instead here I am…” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “The one thing I’m good at is sex. Wow. So great of me, right. My mom would be so proud.”

Flynn took her face in his hand, pressing his fingers to her cheek and gently turning her face so that she had to look into his eyes again. “You’re not failing anyone,” he promised. “You’re doing your best and that’s all anyone can ask of you, especially with these odds.”

“That’s not how history sees it,” Lucy whispered. “History will only see that we failed. And we weren’t happy while we did it, either. If we’re not allowed to be happy you’d think we’d at least get to win.”

Flynn sighed. His hand moved down to tangle with hers. “When Josip died… I blamed myself. I blamed myself for not telling him how I felt, for not being a better partner, for not yanking him out of the way or giving him better medical attention… you name it. And when I lost Lorena and Iris, part of me thought for a long time that I should’ve done something differently. I should’ve fought harder when Rittenhouse came, or I should have known in the first place that Rittenhouse would come.”

“It was just a name to you, a random name, how could you know—”

“Exactly.” Flynn gently squeezed her fingers. “Lucy, it hurts but sometimes there is nothing that we can do. And I know that’s not what you want to hear and I know that probably makes you feel more helpless and there is nothing, nothing scarier than feeling helpless in our lives, or with the people we love. But it also means that you can’t blame yourself.”

She knew the moment that Flynn saw her tears because his expression changed from cautiously soft to outright upset. Lucy hated that she was dumping on him like this, she was always dumping on him, always giving him all of her personal shit and she felt so weak and useless…

Flynn moved as if reading her mind, pulling her into his arms again, holding her. Cradling her, sinking down into the pillows and keeping her in his arms like there was nothing else he was meant for.

Lucy ducked her head down, tucking it into his neck. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve been—you’ve lost everyone too. And you keep going and you’re so good to me, supporting me, I’m sorry.”

Flynn stroked her hair. “Lucy, that’s what I’m here for.”

“But you know I’m here for you for that too, right? If you ever—whatever you need, I’m here for you, too.”

“I appreciate it.” She could sense Flynn searching for words. “Ah, this is one of those moments where… I wish I was… better, in English. Some things are just… still untranslatable for me.”

“I mean. There are things in every language that can’t be translated into other languages. Maybe I should be learning Croatian.”

She felt him chuckle. “Don’t be angry at yourself for being human. Basically.”

Lucy wrapped her arm around his neck. She was actively clinging to him and she felt horribly embarrassed for it but she didn’t think, in this one instance, that Flynn would mind. “How much time do we have left?” she asked.

Flynn shifted a little as he glanced at the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”

They’d spent about an hour just kissing.

Lucy tried to tell herself that didn’t mean anything.

She couldn’t quite succeed.

Because if… if it did mean something, if all this meant something… was she strong enough for that?

Unrequited love, she had that down pat. She could wrestle that into submission. She could deal with it.

But the idea of yet someone else who loved her—the people who loved her didn’t make it. They vanished, like Amy, like her father. They claimed to love her and then chose something else over her, like Wyatt chose Jess and her mother chose Rittenhouse.

They didn’t ever actually get to stay.

“Do you want anything?” Flynn whispered.

“No. Do you?”

There was a pause. She heard Flynn swallow. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

He’d been kissing her this whole time, but she supposed she’d initiated those. “Yes.”

She tilted her head up and Flynn kissed her, gentle, like falling snow, the way she’d catch the flakes on her tongue as a child, melting and warming against her.

Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit. She’d be weak and let him hold the jagged, trembling pieces of her together.

 

* * *

 

He’d been so close to telling her.

If ever there was a time—but he still wasn’t sure. Lucy Preston didn’t strike him as a woman who would just spend an hour kissing the hell out of just anyone, even if she was a lot freer in regard to sexual activities than most people.

But she had to know already, didn’t she? He’d been painfully obvious in his behavior. Even looking back to before he’d realized he was in love with her, his actions in retrospect were so plain he might as well have been holding up a neon sign stating his feelings.

And if she knew, and wasn’t saying anything about it—well, that was answer enough, wasn’t it?

But after today he was starting to think that Lucy’s heart had been broken so often, she didn’t even recognize her own feelings anymore.

He probably should tell her. It was only fair at this point that she knew. With all that they’d done together… with how awkward it was about to be in the safe house once she got back… he owed it to her to be honest. Even if a part of him felt like it would be him forcing his feelings on her.

But not—not today. Not with how fragile she’d been. That wouldn’t have been the right moment. She couldn’t possibly have handled someone else’s emotions when she was clearly so down about herself.

Next week, then. It would be their last meeting, if Lucy got the files. They had plenty already with all she’d been giving them—her reports, the videos, the recordings of her coworkers—and they were tempting fate the longer they kept Lucy there. Maybe Denise would want to pull her anyway.

He’d tell her next week. It was time to get this out into the open and let the chips fall where they may.

 

* * *

 

Lucy stepped out of the changing room, back in her street clothes, only to nearly run into Candace.

She looked… thunderous.

“With me, Miss Wallace,” she ordered.

Lucy swallowed, the breath stilling in her lungs. Her stomach twisted. “Yes, ma’am.”

She followed Candace through to reception, where Stacy looked up curiously as they walked past her. “We’ll be in the viewing room,” Candace said.

Stacy nodded, glancing at Lucy worriedly as Candace hustled Lucy through the security door and down the hall into the viewing room.

Candace walked over, typing something into the computer.

All the screens on the wall filled with the video—the video of Lucy with Flynn from last week.

Oh, fuck.

She hadn’t realized quite how desperate she’d been, ordering him to fuck her roughly, the way Flynn pinned her against the wall, the look on her face as he fucked her like he was trying to break the goddamn plaster.

“First and foremost, there wasn’t a condom,” Candace said. Her voice was soft but it might as well have been a whip crack. Lucy literally flinched. “Second of all, Miss Wallace, while you technically ordered him to do it that looks a lot more like a lover’s tryst to me than a proper client session.”

In the video, Flynn and Lucy kissed desperately, like they were trying to devour each other. Lucy literally wanted the floor to swallow her up. She felt like vomiting.

“Third, I find it fascinating that all the previous videos of your sessions with Mr. Thompkins have mysteriously vanished. I can’t pull them up anywhere.” Candace hit pause on the video and turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Stacy is rather a bleeding heart, isn’t she? Don’t let the Hello Kitty pencil case fool you, and all that.”

Lucy swallowed. “Madam—”

“I’m not finished yet.” Again, Candace’s voice was quiet, but Lucy flinched. She’d almost have preferred a slap.

Candace turned and pulled up a different video—oh, God, the video of the session she’d just had with Flynn.

“Odd, this doesn’t look like sex to me at all,” Candace observed, like she was trying to figure out what shape a particular cloud was in. “Not a proper BDSM scene, certainly. Not even a good old man-pays-for-sex session. No wham bam thank you ma’am.”

Lucy’s eyes and throat burned, her stomach in knots, as she watched herself practically launching into Flynn’s arms, watched him holding her like someone was threatening to rip her away from him, watched them kiss and kiss and kiss like it was all they ever wanted to do.

She tore her eyes away, staring at the floor, blinking against the sting.

Candace paused the video. “Derica. Look at me.”

Lucy swallowed hard, slowly drawing her head back up to look Candace in the eye.

Candace’s blue eyes bore into her, even as her tone went even softer than before. “You are not the first worker to fall for a client. And Mr. Thompkins is not the first client to think he’s fallen for a worker. But never the twain shall meet for a reason. It never works out and it only ends in pain for everyone. And I am running a place where many, many things happen but rendezvous between lovers is not one of those things. If you and this client are serious about trying a relationship you can do that on your own time. But this?” She gestured at the screen. “This is not allowed to continue. This is not what we do here.”

“Mada—”

“You are not allowed to see him.” Candace’s voice was like steel and Lucy was reminded of Carol, of her mother telling her she would go to Stanford, that she wouldn’t see that Remington girl anymore, that she would eat her vegetables.

“No.” The word was out before Lucy could stop it, her voice strangled and wet and horribly raw. “Candace _please_.”

“You’re not doing your job with him,” Candace replied. “This isn’t up for discussion, Derica, this is final. I am running a certain kind of establishment and in order for that establishment to endure, rules have to be followed. This is a castle of cards. One shaky hand, one strong gust of wind, and it goes tumbling down. I will do whatever it takes to keep that from happening and keep all of my workers safe and to do that sometimes one or two of you have to bite the bullet.”

“But—”

“You’ll thank me in time for this.” Candace’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’ve seen this happen time and again. You’re walking a dangerous line, Derica. Please. Pull yourself out of the deep end before you find yourself in a situation you can’t swim back from.”

Lucy wanted to say something, to fight, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt hollow. She'd only just—she had only just started to really let herself think—Flynn was all she had left, he was all she had, _he was all she_   _had—_

“I’m reviewing your other client videos,” Candace said. “As far as I’ve noticed there’s nothing outside the rules in your behavior with them. I’m not suspending you. But you are no longer allowed to have Mr. Thompkins as a client. This is my final decision.”

Lucy’s chest felt tight. “Yes, madam,” she whispered.

Candace looked sympathetic. “Oh, my dear. You didn’t really think I didn’t know what was going on this whole time, did you? That I wasn’t reviewing everyone’s videos? Nothing goes on in this place without my knowing about it. Nothing.”

She walked past Lucy, opening the door for her. “Go home, get some rest. Give it some time, you’ll see I was right to do this. I was protecting you.”

Lucy didn’t see what else she could do.

She walked out, back down the hallway, to reception. She felt dead inside. Numb. Like someone had hit her with a drug and her body hadn't quite gotten the memo that it was time to slump to the floor and pass out.

Stacy was idly doing some online shopping when Lucy walked by. “Hey, Derica,” she said casually, “you ever read _Atonement_?”

Lucy paused. “I… no.” She tried to keep her tone calm. “Stacy, I’m really not in the—”

“You should read it.” Stacy dug the book out of her purse and passed it to her. “Really. It’s great.”

Stacy wiggled the book at her. Lucy sighed and took it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Stacy beamed at her. “Have a good evening, Derica.”

“You too.”

Lucy tucked the book under her arm, went to get her purse, and walked out.

She was rather proud of herself for making it until he got to her apartment to cry.

She was a grown woman, goddammit, she could find a way to see Flynn again, she would, she wasn’t some fifteen year old who had her mother lock her in a tower or something ridiculous and melodramatic like that. She knew the emergency number for the new safe house, it was on the flash drive, so she could call—

Oh, fuck. The mission.

Lucy hadn’t even thought about that. This could compromise the mission, couldn’t it? She’d have to tell Denise. She’d have to get the client files on her own and then just have Denise or Flynn extract her from her apartment first thing instead of giving him the drive as usual.

What did it say about her, that she’d thought only about her relationship with Flynn, only about the terrifying thought of not getting to see him again, and not about the mission that was supposed to help her take down the people who had destroyed her life?

She could feel the walls of her apartment closing in and she struggled to breathe. All right. All right, she would—she would take the evening off. She’d read the stupid book Stacy had given her, and she would find some way to relax, and in the morning she would call the safe house and talk to Denise and it would all work out, somehow.

Lucy grabbed the book out of her purse, opening it to the first page.

A piece of paper fell out.

With a note.

From Stacy.

 

* * *

 

Flynn strode into the lobby. This might be the last meeting. If this went well, then he’d get the drive and Lucy would be extracted by Denise sometime in the next week or so. It couldn’t be right away, or that would be too suspicious.

This was probably the last time that he and Lucy met like this. The last time he had an excuse to hold her, to kiss her, to run his hands over her. The last time he got to be this close to her.

Sometimes he hated his life.

He smiled at Stacy as he walked in. “Hey, Stacy. Should I just go on in?”

Stacy’s face froze. “Ah. Mr. Thompkins. I’m afraid Miss Wallace isn’t available.”

Flynn’s heart stuttered. No. _No_. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Stacy replied.

Well, thank fuck for that.

“She’s just not available,” Stacy went on.

Flynn leaned against the counter. “What does that mean, she’s not available?” he asked, letting just a hint of a growl leak into the edges of his voice.

“It means that you’re welcome to look at our catalog and select one of our other workers,” Stacy said brightly, like she was making a sales pitch. She picked up one of their binders that held the printed-out profiles of their workers and set it in front of him. If a client didn’t know what he wanted or liked to mix things up, he (or she or they) could look at the profiles in the lobby and decide on someone with Stacy’s or even Candace’s assistance.

“I don’t want to see any of your other workers,” Flynn said, panic and irritation starting to rise in him. “I would like to have my usual appointment with Miss Wallace.”

“That’s just not possible,” Stacy said in the polite, sanitized tone of apology perfected by customer service workers everywhere. “But please, take a look at the catalog.”

“I’m not—”

“Take. A look.” Stacy’s eyes flashed. “At. The catalog.”

Flynn frowned slightly, but took the binder and went to sit down in one of the couches.

He flipped through a few pages, wondering what the hell Stacy meant and how the hell he was supposed to fix this mess, and especially why the hell he couldn’t see Lucy—when he got to Lucy’s page in the catalog.

On it was a Post-It note.

_Say you’ll come back another time. Go to this address:_

An apartment was listed.

The note wasn’t signed, but it was pretty obvious who had written it.

Flynn flipped through a few more pages, then closed the binder, stood up, and gave it back to Stacy. “I think I’ll come back another time. If I come back.”

“I can put together some recommendations and send them to the email you provided when you signed up,” Stacy said brightly.

“You do that.” Flynn nodded at her.

Stacy winked.

Then he turned, the address burned into his memory, walked out, and got into the car.

He didn’t know what was waiting for him here. This could be a complete set up. He could be jumped by Rittenhouse. Lucy could be kidnapped or—no. He wasn’t going to think about that. She was alive, she had to be. With all that they’d been through across time… he knew that it was stupid but he couldn’t help but think that if something had happened to her, he would know.

The address turned out to be not just at an apartment, but a very nice one. Flynn was glad he’d worn a good suit. He rode the elevator up, got to the door, and stood there like an idiot.

Should he knock?

He tried the handle. It was unlocked.

He stepped in, ready for just about anything…

“Garcia.”

Flynn froze.

Lucy was sitting at the table, wearing just jeans and a t shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. It was the first time he’d seen her in street clothes in weeks.

Oh, thank God.

He closed the door behind him and strode over to her. Lucy stood up. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Lucy took a shaky breath, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Candace barred me from seeing you. She noticed that we were getting a little… unconventional in our sessions. She decided we’d gotten too personal and she took action.”

Fuck. “This is my fault.” Any idiot watching those videos could see that Flynn was in love with Lucy.

“No, no, it’s mine, I’m the one in charge, I never should have crossed so many lines with you. I should have stuck to my routine.”

“You wanted decent sex, Lucy, that’s not a crime.” It was a fucking relief to be able to talk openly, to say her name, without having to lower his voice or wrap what he was saying up in double entendres. He ran a hand through his hair. “All right. I’ll tell Denise, and we’ll pull you. If Candace has noticed our sessions she has to have noticed other things as well.”

“What?” Lucy looked outraged. “No, no I’m not going anywhere, not until I get those client files.”

“They’re on one computer in the entire fucking complex, Lucy, we have enough evidence without them.”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “Rittenhouse has beaten us time and again, I’m not letting them outmaneuver us this time. They could say it was an actor, that these videos are faked or staged, we need those files to prove it! That’s where the names, the health records, the credit card numbers, the emails—all of the legal stuff is in those files and unless you feel like storming Candace’s office or conducting a police raid…”

“The computers would wipe themselves if there was a raid, clubs like this have fail safes. And friends in the force.”

“All right, NSA genius, then you figure it out, tell me what to do.” Lucy spread her arms wide. “Huh?” She pointed her finger at him. “Because I am not leaving without those files, you are not allowed to pull me. Not when we are so close.”

“Every day you spend in there, you risk getting caught. Emma’s stopped into town once before, we don’t know that she won’t do it again, I’ve clearly been compromised—”

“I haven’t been compromised—”

“I can’t protect you!” Flynn bellowed.

Lucy stared at him, her cheeks pink.

Fuck. He wanted to sink into the floor. “I can’t protect you,” he said roughly. “If they won’t let me near you in that place, if something goes wrong—Christ, Lucy, these people aren’t worth your life. If Rittenhouse gets you, they win. You want that? You want another victory for them?”

“Don’t you dare try that with me,” Lucy hissed, her face truly red now, her eyes shining with tears she was stubbornly refusing to shed. “Don’t you dare, Garcia Flynn. I will do whatever it takes to take these people down and if you’re allowed to do all the shit you did and tried to do, if you’re allowed to justify that, then I’m allowed to do this, I’m allowed to do whatever shit I want too!”

“After all that you’ve lectured me—”

“And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I did that, I’m sorry I took such a moral high ground, Garcia I’m sorry but no.” Lucy shook her head. “I am not getting pulled. I am seeing this through.”

“And that’s worth your life?”

“I have no life!” Lucy wiped furiously at her eyes. “I have nothing left, no one. I lost my entire family, my job, my friends, everyone and everything I have ever cared about, Rittenhouse found a way to take from me.”

Well that was a fucking gut punch. After all. He was still here.

He supposed he’d been deluding himself, then. _An asset. Friends._ That was the best he’d ever been to her. According to Lucy, he wasn’t anyone.

Maybe that other version of her had loved him. He couldn’t forget the way that she’d looked at him in Brazil, the way she’d kissed him, the way she’d desperately held onto him. Nobody was that good of an actress. But somewhere along the way he’d messed up. Things had changed and he’d missed his chance or had never gotten it.

This version of Lucy didn’t love him.

Flynn swallowed. “I suppose it is your life and your choice. You’re an adult. You can do that. But I do want you to know that I think this is dangerous, and you’re making a mistake.”

Lucy slumped. “Don’t give me that tone of voice,” she said wearily. “Just… don’t. I know you don’t approve, I didn’t… I didn’t come here to argue.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“Stacy arranged it. I think that she thinks—we’re—” Lucy’s voice trailed off and she made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat, her hand waving through the air in a loop de loop.

Well, Stacy had probably noticed his complete and idiotic pining. “Right.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine, that I’m going to get the files, and that I’ll call the number Denise gave me when it’s time for an extraction.”

“Of course.” Of course, Lucy only wanted business. Nothing else. “I’ll… let her know.”

“Stacy might let us use her apartment again,” Lucy added softly. “If you wanted to come by next week.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Flynn replied. He forced himself to keep his tone neutral. “Be careful, Lucy.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms and hug her, he wanted to stroke her tangled hair and work out all the curls, he wanted to kiss her until her knees were weak.

But that had all been in the client room, a show and an escape all at once, and they weren’t doing that anymore.

He clenched his hands into fists at his side and nodded once, sharply, at her. He’d trusted her so far. He had to trust that she’d see this through. “You can do this,” he told her. Because if anyone could, it would be her.

Something at once soft and devastating crossed over Lucy’s face. “Garcia—”

“Be careful,” he repeated, turning and walking out before he did something phenomenally stupid like kiss her.

And he’d been going to tell her he loved her.

Well, at least he knew he was a shoe-in for the Idiot of the Year award.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sank back down into the chair.

Flynn’s face, his voice, all of it—it had been like a knife in her chest.

_I don’t think that will be necessary._

It was like he was talking to a coworker he barely tolerated.

What—what had just happened?

She’d hoped… well. It was stupid. But she’d hoped for something a bit more. Maybe not sex, but a kiss, at least? A hug, even?

Only now that it was yanked away from her could she admit that she had started to hope that she’d been lying to herself, protecting herself from pain, and that Flynn really did love her after all.

His cold tone just now said the opposite.

Lucy buried her face in her hands, more tears leaking free. She’d gone and done it, now. Stepped right into the shit.

She took a few deep breaths.

Fine.

Fine, all right, she’d set herself up for that. Flynn was pissed at her and clearly had no interest in her outside of the client room. He hadn’t made a single effort to touch her when he’d seen her, hadn’t so much as held her hand. All right. She’d handle this. She’d shove it aside where she shoved all the other hurt and pain and broken pieces and she’d deal with it much, much later, when Rittenhouse was defeated and she had permission to fall apart.

She still had the mission.

And she was going to complete it, God damn it, whatever it took.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean, they wouldn’t let you see her?” Denise demanded as Flynn announced what had gone on as he strode around the safe house kitchen.

“I mean,” Flynn snapped, yanking out his tie and throwing it aside, “that they wouldn’t let me see her.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Flynn took a deep breath. Literally everyone was staring at him, including Mason, and this really was not how he’d wanted to tell Denise some very personal information. If he had to tell her at all. “Because the brothel madam noticed that Lucy and I weren’t behaving like typical clients and workers.”

Wyatt had a coughing fit. Rufus put his head in his hands and Jiya just rolled her eyes.

Luckily, Denise couldn’t see Rufus and Jiya from where her eyes were boring into Flynn, and Wyatt’s discomfort with this whole BDSM thing was well known, so she probably didn’t think anything of it. “So she ended it.”

“She forbade Lucy from having me as a client anymore. I’m welcome to use one of their other workers if I want.” Flynn knew his tone was scathing but he couldn’t help it. “But it’s all right, I saw her.”

Denise’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“One of her coworkers, Stacy, she let us borrow her apartment.”

“And you just went? Like that?” Denise folded her arms. “Flynn, what if she’d been Rittenhouse?”

“She still could be,” Mason pointed out. “Earning your trust, first.”

“I’ll look her up,” Jiya said, going over to the computers. “We ran preliminary background checks on the workers, I’ll just pull up her file. Maybe there’s something we missed.”

Flynn walked over to her. “She’s a good person. Lucy gave me the impression she did it because she thinks that Lucy and I are… ah… together.”

“Are you?” Denise asked.

Wyatt walked over to look at the computer as Jiya pulled up Stacy’s picture, which was what saved Flynn from having to answer.

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Wyatt blurted out, grabbing Flynn’s arm and pointing at the screen. “Who is that?”

“That’s Stacy. She’s the receptionist, right-hand woman to the boss, she let us use her apartment to meet up,” Flynn said slowly.

“Stacy?” Wyatt asked. “Stacy Martindale?”

“How’d you know her last name?” Denise asked, her voice sharp.

Wyatt jabbed his finger at the screen. “Because I know her. That’s Sergeant Martindale, Delta Force. She left the same time I did, after Jess died, went into private security.”

Flynn’s stomach dropped out. He whipped around, glaring at Denise, fire in his lungs. “I thought you said you did background checks.”

“Nothing came up,” Denise admitted.

“Then you didn’t dig hard enough—”

“Martindale got into an altercation with a higher up,” Wyatt said. “We never knew for certain but I think it was… I think he tried something, and she defended herself. Some of the missions she went on, it would take a hell of a lot of digging to find that info. They bury our Delta shit pretty deep.”

“Is she a danger to Lucy?” Denise asked.

“I don’t think so. She’s not the Rittenhouse type.”

“But we don’t know,” Flynn pointed out.

Wyatt swallowed. “No,” he admitted, his voice rough. “We don’t know.”

Flynn looked at Denise. “I’m getting Lucy,” he said. “And I’m getting her _now_.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy walked into the client room, her smirk already plastered onto her face. Just another day or two of this and she would be done, and like a runner who sees the finish line in a marathon, she was starting to lose patience now that the end was in sight.

She closed the door behind her. “Jack,” she drawled, casually flipping the lock and putting a hand on her hip as she turned around. “Have—”

Lucy froze.

The client, Jack Lewis, was a Rittenhouse man. She knew that. His brother was a sleeper agent, gone for three months—she’d learned that from Jack, who hadn’t explicitly said that but she’d read clearly enough between the lines. Jack had been raised in Rittenhouse, and his loyalty to them was absolute.

And yet she really had not expected him to be pointing a gun in her face.

“You really thought Emma would come to town and not learn you were here?” Jack asked. Lucy noticed his hand didn’t shake. He was comfortable with this weapon, and with pointing it at her. “Took us a good few weeks to figure you out, bravo. But now you’re coming with me. Emma wants to have a little talk with the princess.”


	12. Chapter 12

Lucy carefully stepped to the side, resting her hand on the dresser as if for balance. “Emma was in town weeks ago. How is it taking you this long to grab me?”

“The lady who runs this place keeps a tight ship, I’ll give her that,” Jack said. Lucy’s hand crept towards the bottom of the mirror frame. “Emma wanted us to be sure. But after she showed me a photograph of you—well. I’d recognize those curves anywhere.”

“Being misogynistic to throw me off my guard isn’t going to work,” Lucy informed him, letting pity seep into her tone. She ran her hand along the bottom of the frame—there!

Lucy pressed the panic button—one of a few scattered around the room—that would set off the silent alarm in the security room and at reception.

“I hate to tell you,” she added, ignoring her pounding heart, “but it gets kind of blasé after a while when all you guys do is threaten me sexually. I’ll be honest it almost makes me want one of you to say you’ll cut off my ear or something?”

Jack stared at her. “You realize I’m pointing a gun in your face, right?”

“So? You think you’re the person to do that either?” Lucy sighed, trying to sound put upon. It’s just another scene, she told herself. She was in control here, she was the goddamn domme, not this weasel. “And did it occur to you to maybe do this when you’d gotten me in a better position? Ask if I could be tied up this time or something?”

She scrambled to remember the fight moves she’d learned in the class the others had taken her to, but it was all still so new. It wasn’t ingrained in her body yet. She didn’t trust herself to move, to act and to have it work the way it should.

But she had to do something. The man was pointing a gun in her face for fuck’s sake and she didn’t think Emma would be too displeased if Lucy was brought to her in a body bag.

The door was kicked open and for a heart stopping second Lucy thought, _Flynn_ , and then a thin, razor-sharp dagger flew through the air and hit Jack in the hand.

Jack dropped the gun. Lucy yelped, dodging, but it managed to fall without going off. Jack clutched at his hand, yelling in pain, his eyes wide and stark like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Lucy whipped around to see Stacy standing there. Her trademark bun was still in place but the two hair pieces that Lucy had—mistakenly, it seemed—thought held the bun in place were gone. One was in Stacy’s hand, and now Lucy could see that the end of it that had been hidden in the hair was another dagger, just like the one buried in Jack’s hand.

That wasn’t the only change. Stacy was barefoot, her long-sleeved bright pink blouse and long skirt shucked at some point to reveal an all-black outfit made out of… something, Lucy didn’t know what, but it sure looked like it could take a hit. She had a feeling if she tried stabbing that fabric, the blade wouldn’t go in.

She thought she could put the pieces together, but apparently that hadn’t caught up with her mouth, because she blurted out, “Where’s the cavalry?”

Stacy raised an eyebrow. “I’m the cavalry.”

Jack yanked the dagger out of his hand with a yell and struck at Lucy. Lucy screamed instinctively, ducking, as Stacy got in between and blocked the blow, sucker punching Jack in the stomach and then grabbing his wrist and twisting it until his arm was behind his back and she could kick at the back of his knees, sending him to the floor.

Stacy got her other arm around and dug the dagger into Jack’s neck, just hard enough for him to feel it. “Don’t. Move.”

Holy shit.

“What about the security team?” Lucy asked, panting.

“The protocol is to clear out the club in the event of a gunman,” Stacy replied. “Nobody wants a repeat of Pulse.” She wrenched Jack’s arm further behind his back. “Their job is to evacuate. My job is to neutralize the threat.”

“So you’re—you’re—”

“Did you really think a receptionist would be trusted with all the shit Candace gives me?” Stacy asked. “I’m Delta. I got kicked out after some asshole tried to have some fun with me, Candace took me in, gave me a job here. Who looks twice at the secretary, am I right?” She flashed Lucy a winning smile.

There was the sound of thundering feet and two members of the security team appeared. “Sergeant Martindale?” one of them said.

Stacy nodded at Jack. “Take care of him.”

She released Jack, who was immediately grabbed by the two security men, and hauled off, spitting and yelling the whole way. Lucy stared after him. “Aren’t you going to call the police?”

“Is this club legal?” Stacy replied. “You might only have sex with your boy toy but a lot of the people here have sex with all or most of their clients. Everyone’s different. And if the men who go here knew there’d been police—they’d never come back.”

“Then what are you going to do with him?”

Stacy shrugged. “If he’s from a powerful family? Probably nothing physical. Candace has got plenty of blackmail on him, though. He won’t ever come to the club again. If he’s a nobody…” Stacy carefully cleaned her daggers off on a tissue from one of the drawers, then stuck them back in her hair. “Check the river tomorrow.”

Lucy gaped at her as Stacy started to walk out. “But—you—”

“The law doesn’t protect us,” Stacy said, gesturing for Lucy to follow her. “So we have to protect ourselves.”

Lucy followed her down the hall to reception, where Candace was standing with another member of the security team. “Derica?” she asked sharply, walking over. “You’re all right?”

“Yes, madam.” Lucy allowed Candace to pat her down and check her for bruising or injuries.

“Come with me into the office. You clearly can’t go home.” Candace took her by the wrist and led her away. “Make sure the others are all right, Stacy, and run a check to make sure he doesn’t have any accomplices nearby. And someone get rid of that gun, please.”

“Yes, right away,” Stacy said, nodding.

It was the first time she’d been in Candace’s office since her interview. The flash drive was still on her. She never let it leave her person. If Candace left her alone in the office for just a few minutes…

“Would you like some water?” Candace asked, turning to the mini fridge.

“Yes, please. Are—Stacy said—are you really going to get rid of that man?”

Candace poured her a glass of water. She sighed. “He’s not very high up in the government, but I hear his brother has rather… disgraced the family and been sent on some assignment somewhere to get him out of the way for a while. That means his parents will be pinning all their hopes on this son, which means we probably won’t be getting rid of him. We’ll just talk to the family and make sure there are no reprisals against us.”

“You’ll blackmail them.”

“I’d like to see you try and get the MPD to do anything,” Candace replied. She passed Lucy the water.

Lucy gulped it down. It had an odd taste. “I’ve never had anything like this happen in a session before.”

She knew she was just stalling for time until… until… because everyone had to have heard what Jack said on… the… video feed…

Why was… the room…

Lucy tried to speak, but her tongue felt heavy and all she could do was slur.

The room spun, someone caught her, shushing her, telling her it was all right…

_Garcia?_

Everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Flynn had no less than four guns on his person when he walked into the club and frankly he thought it wasn’t nearly enough. Denise hadn’t authorized anything that couldn’t easily be concealed, though, and she hadn’t allowed a heartily protesting Wyatt to join Flynn.

“You go in, you get her out, smooth and easy. No fuss, no fanfare,” Denise had said. “Understood?”

So here he was.

He opened the door to the lobby—and stopped.

All the doors were open. Silent red lights were flashing in the ceiling. Stacy wasn’t at reception and it looked by the disheveled state of the papers on the desk that she’d left in a hurry.

Flynn pulled out one of his guns, walking further in with caution, every muscle tense, alert. Something was seriously wrong.

He sensed the person coming and dodged, a dagger whistling by his head and embedding itself in the wall behind him. Flynn turned.

“Oops?” Stacy said, looking honestly apologetic. “Thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” Flynn asked.

Stacy was wearing some kind of flexible Kevlar bodysuit, and yup, Flynn had been right—her hair pieces were daggers. She walked over and yanked the one dagger out of the wall, the other clasped easily in her grasp. “You’re here for Lucy.”

His blood ran cold. “How do you know her name, Sergeant Martindale?”

Stacy flinched. “How do you know my name? They buried me deep after my abrupt exit. Although they bury all of Delta deep.”

“Wyatt Logan says hello.”

Stacy gave a thin smile. “Ah. Good guy. The human version of vanilla ice cream but. Decent guy.”

“What did you do with Lucy.”

“I didn’t do anything with her. Some idiot pulled a gun on her, said he was taking her to someone named Emma and that she’d been found out. I got in, subdued him, had security take care of him, and while my back’s turned my boss and Lucy both go missing. I was about to check security footage when you waltzed in.”

“Well check it damn quick. The people after her will kill her if they get their hands on her, and they’ll kill your boss, too.”

Stacy rolled her eyes. “I know you’re in love with her but do you have to be quite so dramatic about it? C’mon.” She waved her hand for him to follow her.

Flynn followed, gun still in hand in case this was a setup, as Stacy led him to a sort of viewing room.

“There aren’t any cameras in Candace’s office but there are cameras at each door and that should tell us…” Stacy paused as the videos popped up.

“What?” Flynn asked, looking over her shoulder.

The video showed an older woman—Candace—carrying an unconscious Lucy out the back door and helping her into the front passenger seat of a car.

His stomach churned. Candace was Rittenhouse?

“What the hell,” Stacy whispered.

“She’s helping them,” Flynn snarled. “This idiot with the gun was her chance to snatch Lucy.”

“Candace isn’t a part of some crazy society,” Stacy snapped.

“Nobody’s untouchable, she got family?”

“Her only family is dead.” Stacy paused. “Unless you count us.”

“Like I said.” Flynn headed for the door, the car’s make, model, and license plate memorized. “Nobody’s untouchable.”

He was getting Lucy back and God help that woman if Lucy came to harm in the meantime.

He’d tear her limb from limb.

 

* * *

 

Lucy came to with her cheek pressed against cool glass, her body vibrating slightly from… from the motor of a car.

She opened her eyes, her head pounding, and turned her face to look at whoever was driving.

Candace sat, cool as a cucumber, in the driver’s seat, navigating the usual Washington traffic.

Lucy’s heart ached just about as much as her head. She’d trusted Candace. She’d felt… she’d felt like Candace could be another mother to her. Candace had been so kind, so understanding—even her forceful intervention of Lucy’s sessions with Flynn had been out of a sense of protection.

And now…

Lucy closed her eyes against the sting. Then she opened them, and settled a confused, innocent look on her face. “Candace? Where are we? What are you doing?

“Don’t play stupid with me, my dear, it discredits you.” Candace sighed. “And you really are doing quite well, given your lack of experience. You’ve clearly never done espionage before.”

Well. There went that plan out the window. But surely if Candace been Rittenhouse then Denise would have found it out?

“But…” Lucy stared at her. “You can’t be…”

“I’m not Rittenhouse,” Candace replied. “What’s that quote? ‘Like all members of the oldest profession, I’m a capitalist’. I’ve known about them. How could I not when half of them use my club, my workers? I’ve let them do their thing and they’ve let me do mine.”

“How could you—”

“Oh, please don’t start on the moral superiority, my dear, it doesn’t suit you. They’re no worse than half the men in this town. You’re lucky I let you go on and do your little Nancy Drew schtick for as long as I did.”

“Why’re you helping them now?” Lucy asked.

A flicker of pain crossed Candace’s face—and Lucy knew.

“Your brother,” she whispered. “They promised they’d bring him back, didn’t they? That you’d get another chance with him.”

The lines on Candace’s face deepened in pain, and then her expression smoothed out. “Does it really matter why? Betrayal is betrayal and I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t broken your trust. But then, you broke mine this whole time, so I suppose we’re even. Honestly those people are lucky they asked me, pulling a gun on you like that? Is that the best and brightest this Rittenhouse can offer? No wonder they’re so desperate.”

She reached out, gently patting Lucy’s cheek. Lucy tried not to flinch. “It does pain me,” Candace whispered. “I always try to look after my girls. And my boys.” Then she withdrew her hand, shrugging. “But with your sister, I think you’d understand.”

Lucy felt a flash of anger in her, like a spark in a powder keg. “No,” she snapped. “I don’t.”

She loved Amy. She loved her, she would always love her, she _would_ find her again. But Amy wouldn’t want—this. She wouldn’t want Lucy to betray someone, to help Rittenhouse, for Amy’s life.

“You think I wanted to do this?” Candace replied. “You think it doesn’t hurt me? Your little group isn’t the only one who uses my club. They aren’t the first, and they won’t be the last. I tried to protect you. I told you to end it and I meant it. Did you really think that yesterday was the first time I’ve noticed you and Mr. Thompkins, or whatever his name really is? The moment you fucked him I knew there was something between you two and you’ve only gotten worse since. But I allowed it, I didn’t say anything, I covered for you. And now you’ve gone and forced their hand and I can’t protect you.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Lucy replied, trying not to let her desperation show. “You don’t know what they’re like, what they’re capable of.”

“I know they’re capable of ruining my business,” Candace snapped. “You think all clubs are as good as this one? I won’t let my workers be out on the street corners, I won’t let them ruin all I’ve built. And as much as I hate it if someone gets hurt, better the girl who lied to me for weeks than my loyal employees. They offered me a second chance with my brother. I can’t deny that… that… that was a lot. But I’m a businesswoman and I will protect my family.”

“And I’m not—”

“You lied to me from the start. Used me and all the others in that club. Manipulated us. And you dare to ask if you’re family?” Candace scoffed. “Maybe if you’d been a little better at your spying, my dear, or a little faster, it wouldn’t have come to this. But here we are, and if I have to choose between you or my brother and the people I promised I’d take care of…”

The frustrating thing was, Lucy could understand. She had no doubt that along with their promises, Rittenhouse had also delivered threats.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said honestly. “I really am sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you. But these people, they’re more awful than you know. You might think that you’re protecting the club and that you’ll get your brother back but there’s always another price to pay. Once you’re in with them they won’t let you go, they—”

Something smashed into the car from the side and they went spinning out.

Lucy screamed, the world whirling around her and oh God, oh God it was happening again, she was going to end up in the water, in the deep dark drowning water, black and cold and all-consuming and she couldn’t get out, she couldn’t get out, she couldn’t—

She yanked frantically at the door as the spinning stopped and it opened. She would’ve spilled out onto the concrete if her seatbelt hadn’t held her in place.

Her lunch, though, that went right out onto the pavement just fine.

“Lucy!”

She jerked up, dizzy, disoriented, peering through the smoke. Candace was groaning next to her, the airbag having gone off in her face. Lucy fumbled for her seatbelt. She knew that voice…

“Lucy!”

She started crying, struggling with her seatbelt, just managing to click it open as Flynn emerged from wherever he’d been, grabbing her and hauling her out. “Garcia.” She clung to him, letting him get an arm around her waist and carry her away from the wreck. “What—how—”

“There’s a tracker in your flash drive.” Flynn cradled her in the crook of his arm, a gun pointed at the car where Candace still lay. His eyes were blazing with fire and his chest was heaving. “Did you really think I’d let there be a risk of you disappearing? Mason made it, fit it into the end of the cap.”

“Candace isn’t Rittenhouse,” Lucy managed, coughing. God, her head hurt. She was bruised… somewhere, and she felt something warm sliding down her temple. “They threatened the club, promised her—her brother back—”

Stacy emerged from the car that, apparently, she’d rammed head-on into Candace’s vehicle. She, too, had a gun, although it was pointed at the ground, and her face was hard and angry in a way that Lucy hadn’t thought Stacy capable of. “I’m on Candace.” Stacy said. “You get her out of here.”

“I—” Flynn started, but Stacy tossed them something.

Lucy caught it. It was a flash drive.

“You two are undercover,” Stacy said. “Feds, right?”

“Homeland,” Flynn replied.

“And everyone tells me the whole law force inter-dating thing is a piece of Hollywood bullshit,” Stacy muttered. “Look, those are the client files Lucy tried to download from my computer the other week.”

Lucy stared at her. Stacy winked. “C’mon. When you yank a flash drive out the program puts up a warning on the computer letting you know a device was improperly ejected.”

Oh. Well. Then.

“Take the damn files, and take those bastards down, okay?” Stacy said. “Promise me that.”

“What about this?” Flynn asked, waving his hand around at the, oh yeah, actual car crash in the middle of the highway. “What about Candace?”

A flash of deep, unspeakable hurt appeared in Stacy’s eyes. “I’ll take care of it. This is the stuff I’m trained for. You two go.”

Lucy reached out, still feeling dizzy and like she might throw up again. “Stacy…”

“It’s okay,” Stacy said softly. “It’s all right. I understand.”

Lucy watched as Stacy, gun in hand, went around the car to check on Candace. “What’s she going to do with her?” Lucy whispered.

Flynn put his gun away, hefted her into his arms, and carried her away. “Not our problem anymore. You okay?”

“She gave me something. Head hurts.” Lucy rested her head on Flynn’s shoulder.

“We kind of totaled Stacy’s car so we’ll have to get a Lyft.” Flynn shook her gently. “Lucy? Lucy?”

“I thought I was back in the river…” she mumbled, and then she passed out again.

 

* * *

 

Flynn cradled Lucy to his chest as he hurried down the highway, finding an off ramp and a convenience store. Stacy was, thankfully, drawing all the crowds by staying near the car crash and handling Candace. He didn’t know what Stacy would do with her or what it meant for the future of the club, and he didn’t care.

All that mattered was Lucy.

She looked pale, blood was sliding down the side of her face from a cut, and there was a bad bruise on her leg. She’d thrown up the second she’d opened the car door, and Flynn didn’t know how much of it was from the crash or from whatever Candace had done to her to knock her out.

“’Scuse me,” he said, walking past the rather alarmed-looking man behind the counter and striding into the bathroom, kicking the door closed.

He gently set Lucy down on the floor, wet some hand towels, and wiped away at the cut, pulling out the burner phone Denise had given him and calling the safe house.

The phone didn’t even finish ringing once. “Do you have her?” Wyatt asked.

“She’s banged up but fine,” Flynn said. He gently patted Lucy down, checking for any broken bones, then lifted her shirt to look at her stomach for signs of internal bleeding. Finding none, he pulled her shirt back down and gently picked her up again. “It got messy. I’m getting a Lyft back to the club—”

“Why’d you leave the club?”

“Wyatt, do me a favor and let someone else finish a sentence before you cut in, all right?”

The contrite silence on the other end of the line was very satisfying.

“I’m getting a Lyft back to the club, I’ll drive the car from there, we should be back in a few hours.”

“Ah, okay.” There was a commotion in the background. “Okay, _okay_!” Wyatt yelled at someone else. “I’m _coming_ , give me five seconds!”

“Did Mom say your phone time is up?”

“Asshole. Just—is Lucy really okay?”

“She’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Okay. Um. Drive safe.”

“You too,” Flynn said automatically before hanging up.

Wait, _you too_?

Fuck’s sake.

He called the Lyft while carrying Lucy out of the store. The guy behind the counter still looked concerned, like Flynn was some kind of human trafficker or something. “Day drinking,” Flynn said. “Horrible addiction.”

Then he walked out.

 

* * *

 

Lucy came to with her cheek pressed against cool glass, her body vibrating slightly from… from the motor of a car.

She jerked awake. No, no not again, not—

“Lucy.” Flynn laid his hand on her wrist, not taking his eyes off the road. “You’re all right, you’re with me.”

She deflated like a collapsed balloon, turning her hand over, squeezing Flynn’s fingers, making sure he was real. “I thought…”

“You were back in the river.” Flynn was still looking at the road. “I’m sorry. I should’ve… it was in the journal. I should’ve thought about that before I let Stacy ram the car. I tried shooting out the tires but couldn’t get a clean shot.”

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

He glanced at her out of the side of his eyes. “For coming for you? Lucy. Of course.”

She looked out the front window. She could only see trees. “Where are we?”

“Close to the safe house, should be there in a few minutes. You slept for a while, I think getting the rest of the drug out of your system but we can’t rule out a concussion.”

She wondered why Flynn wasn’t shaking off her hand. She was still holding onto his fingers like her life depended on it. “I don’t remember hitting my head but I think I was bleeding…”

“You were, a little. Could be nothing but Denise should have you checked out.” From the tense way he said her name, Lucy suspected Flynn and Denise were not on the best of terms at present.

“I was stupid,” she whispered. “I walked right into this.”

“You did the best that you could. Lucy, you’re not trained in any of this. People get training for undercover assignments. They get weeks and months for that kind of thing. You got thrown right into the deep end.”

“I took too long getting the files. I got distracted.”

Flynn pulled into a dirt road that Lucy hadn’t even realized was there, the trees closing in thick around them. “We got the files, Lucy, that’s what matters. And you got so much else before that for us. You were alone and it took you a long time to get discovered. You should be proud of yourself for that.” He paused. “Your sister would be proud of you.”

The car rounded a bend and pulled up in front of a sprawling, aging house that looked like time had mostly forgotten. “You’re okay, Lucy,” he told her.

“Garcia…”

Flynn looked out the front window and gave a small smile. “Your fan club is here.”

Lucy sat up and saw Rufus and Jiya running down the front steps. She wanted to talk to Flynn—she had to tell him—

But then the car door was opening and Rufus was hugging her and she was being pulled out and told she was missed and Jiya was kissing her cheek, “tell us everything,” “are you okay,” “you look like hell,” and then Wyatt was walking down the steps and grinning at her and she was hugging him because she’d been mad at him but she had also missed him, and then…

“Lucy?”

She looked up.

Jessica Logan stood on the front steps, leaning on the banister. She was, wow, heavily pregnant. She smiled tentatively, giving an awkward half-wave. “Glad to see you’re all right,” she said quietly.

Lucy stared. She heard Flynn getting out of the car behind her. “When did you get here?” he asked, none too gently.

“While you were gone,” Wyatt said. He sounded sheepish. “It was a bit last minute.”

“Emma and I had a falling out,” Jess said.

Flynn looked at Wyatt. Wyatt looked at Flynn. The _I’m going to kill you_ in Flynn’s eyes was not spoken but judging by the absolute one hundred percent fear in Wyatt’s eyes, he’d gotten the message anyway.

“Lucy.” Everyone got out of the way for Denise. “If you’ll come with me, we need a report.”

“She should rest,” Flynn argued, transferring his glare from Wyatt to Denise. “She was drugged, kidnapped—”

Denise took Lucy’s hand and led her up into the house. “Rufus, please make sure Wyatt and Flynn don’t kill each other.”

“Like Rufus can actually stop me if I want to,” Flynn scoffed.

Lucy glanced back at him as she was led into the house. She’d thought he was angry with her, but how he’d picked her up and held her easy as anything, how he’d let her hold his hand—she had to ask—

But Denise pulled her into the house and the door closed, and she couldn’t see him anymore.

 

* * *

 

Flynn was going to strangle Wyatt.

The first thing Lucy saw when she got back was the pregnant wife of the man she was in love with and nobody, nobody thought to text him? To let him know so that he could prepare Lucy? What the fuck?

“I didn’t know!” Wyatt hissed. “Flynn, I’m sorry!”

“Like hell, you couldn’t have texted me?”

“Like you would’ve answered!”

“Children,” Mason said wearily.

Flynn did his best not to storm past Jess on his way up the stairs. She had been playing double agent for them this whole time, and he understood the desire to protect one’s child. But to put Lucy through this all over again…

The last thing she’d want was him, of all people, adding to the mess. Her sort-of forced friend with benefits.

He went up to his room and closed the door.

Well, at least he’d always believed in quitting things cold turkey.

 

* * *

 

Lucy answered as best she could as Denise asked her questions, seating on a couch in what seemed to be a room dedicated as Denise’s office, keeping her voice neutral. She’d thought she was doing pretty well, but Denise paused about halfway through. “Lucy?”

She looked up.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Denise asked.

Lucy nodded.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Flynn, would it?” Denise’s voice was firm but careful. Like she knew she was walking into a minefield. “He said that he was barred from seeing you…”

“No.” Lucy was honest about that. Flynn was… he was… but that wasn’t what she was upset about.

“Then what is it?

She swallowed. “Candace,” she whispered.

Denise’s eyes softened. “She betrayed you.”

Lucy burst into tears and was immediately wrapped up in Denise’s arms. “I thought—I thought she’d be—I wanted a mom, I thought she’d—be—” She started hiccuping.

“I’m sorry.” Denise squeezed her tightly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t there for you and I’m sorry.”

“I trusted her, I trusted her and she just—and I know I lied to her but it still—it hurts—she was so _kind_ —”

“Very few of us are black and white,” Denise murmured. “Shh, _priya_ , it’s all right. Just cry it out. You’re safe now, just cry it out.”

Lucy buried her face in Denise’s shoulder and cried until there was nothing left.


	13. Chapter 13

Flynn had been avoiding her.

It was pretty obvious. Everyone was noticing it. Denise was admittedly a bit of a distraction, between looking after her—they’d started having tea together once a day—and working with her as they prepared for Denise to actually use all of Lucy’s information against Rittenhouse. The plan was to have an arrest team in place, and then have the information be leaked to various news outlets that weren’t controlled by Rittenhouse members, so that the story would break out and they could promptly move into the trial phase without giving anyone time to lawyer up.

So the first few days, Lucy had been busy with that and hadn’t quite noticed the fact that Flynn would leave the room whenever she entered, somehow mysteriously being already finished with breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or his chess game with Mason, or needing to ‘grab something from his room’ to show Jiya.

But now, oh, she definitely noticed.

The others all seemed like a group of nervous hyenas watching from the sidelines as two lions circled each other, none of them willing to actually join in but definitely all invested. Jess, having been playing double agent over the phone this whole time, was, it seemed, the one who knew the least about what was going on but she’d picked up on the tension pretty quickly.

She’d apologized to Lucy, actually, on their first night back, by making Lucy, of all things, an alcoholic milkshake.

“I was worried if I turned, they’d find me and kill me,” she’d said quietly. “And that meant they’d kill the baby. So I… I did what I thought I had to. But I was hoping that Jiya would escape and that you’d win. I just didn’t see how—they seemed to be so powerful. I didn’t know how else to protect my child. But with Emma… I don’t think my child would be safe with her in charge. Rittenhouse, the Rittenhouse I knew, they worked from the shadows, subtly. This is war, and I won’t have my child used like that.”

 Lucy had accepted the milkshake (it was delicious) and the apology, although she still felt cautious around Jess. Jess seemed to accept that she was at the bottom of the totem pole and didn’t really speak unless spoken to, and she and Jiya were in the middle of a war colder than Siberia. But she could feel Jess’s curiosity whenever Flynn made another swift exit and Lucy was left high and dry.

Mason seemed honestly amused by the whole thing. Rufus and Wyatt would exchange looks but never said anything one way or another. Lucy kept expecting Wyatt to tell her that Flynn wasn’t good for her anyway, but he seemed surprisingly comfortable in Flynn’s presence now. It seemed that three months had done a lot to change Wyatt’s perception of Flynn, and vice versa, if the extremely awkward but earnest attempts at being polite to one another were any indication (one time Flynn made Wyatt a cup of coffee and Wyatt had been so shocked he’d dropped the mug and broken it).

Denise, it seemed, was politely ignoring whatever the latest romantic tension was between her charges. Which seemed best, Lucy felt, given the shit they’d already pulled.

Jiya, on the other hand, seemed rather ticked off about the whole thing.

But nobody said anything. It just… stretched on, as the pieces fell into place to disgrace Rittenhouse and Lucy started to fear she was forgetting what Flynn’s skin felt like beneath her fingertips.

It didn’t help that the bastard clearly needed a session. Flynn was getting more tense every day from what she saw of him. His shoulders were tight, his hands would clench, his jaw ticking. She hadn’t realized when she’d first been getting to know him that the extremely tense and strung out man she had in front of her wasn’t Flynn’s default. He was loose, graceful, soft. He sprawled out in chairs, he made hand gestures, he swaggered into rooms. The way he was now—he needed her, dammit, at least sexually if nothing else, he needed someone to work all that tension out of him.

Her fingers itched to touch him, to force him down onto a bed or even against a wall, she wasn’t picky, and bleed all of that stiffness out of him until he was relaxed and limp again.

And then the next morning was the trial.

Denise had everything in place and was coming in the next morning to pick Lucy up. She’d been going over her speeches again and again with Mason, the best orator in the group, as he fake grilled her and she practiced answering questions. Denise had been drilling her on her memory of past events and had made Derica Wallace into a legitimate (or so the paperwork said) agent of Homeland Security, Lucy Preston buried witness protection levels deep.

This time tomorrow, half of present-day Rittenhouse would be behind bars. Good luck running an organization with no members, Emma.

With any luck, anyway.

God, she needed a drink.

Lucy walked down into the living room, where Wyatt and Jess were going over custody. The two of them were… well. Lucy wasn’t sure. They treated one another with a kind of distance, but also the kind of familiarity that came with knowing someone for two decades. There were times when one of them would say something and the other would laugh quietly, smiling, but there also was a lack of touching, a lack of intimacy, and Lucy had noticed that Wyatt was sharing a room with Mason while Jess was on her own.

“Hey,” Wyatt said as she entered. He flipped through some papers. “Do we even have any property to divide up?”

“I mean I don’t think I ever officially ended the lease…”

“But they’d foreclose if we stopped making payments, were you making payments?”

“I don’t think I was.”

“Either of you seen Flynn?” Lucy asked.

Wyatt and Jess looked at each other. “He and Jiya just went on a walk,” Wyatt said slowly, looking away from Jess and up at Lucy.

“I see.” Anger started to bubble in the pit of her stomach. “Has he said anything to you about… us?”

“No?” Wyatt looked a little sheepish. “I mean, he and I don’t really… we don’t really talk about stuff like that. Our last conversation he was trying to get me into soccer and that’s about as deep as it gets with us.”

“Maybe he just wants to give you space?” Jess suggested, signing some form or other by resting the paper on her growing stomach. “Wyatt, your taste in baby names is horrible.”

“Thanks, dear,” Wyatt said sarcastically.

“I don’t want space,” Lucy said, knowing she sounded plaintive.

Jess nudged Wyatt with her foot as if to say _your move_. “Then wait in his room or something, Lucy,” Wyatt said. “The guy thought the right way to introduce himself was to blow up a blimp and then ominously tell you he knew you while standing in front of the wreckage. Then he used you as a human shield. I don’t think social cues are his strength.”

Lucy wanted to inform Wyatt that he had no room to stand on given the absolutely horrible timing of his love declaration, but judging by the way Wyatt had been behaving (and the way Jess was currently digging her toenails into his thigh), he already knew. “Right. Don’t tell him I talked to you about this.”

“Talked to you about what?” Jess said. She shot Lucy a wink.

It was really hard to be angry at Jess when she made herself so very likeable. “I’ll leave you guys to it then.”

She walked back upstairs, to Flynn’s room, and sat down to wait. She felt jittery, nervous, and angry all at once. Why would he think she needed space? Had she not been clear in how much she needed him, how much she relied on him and wanted him around? And instead of just talking about it like adults he was fleeing from her?

God, she could punch him in his stupid handsome face.

Lucy sat on Flynn’s bed, noting the lack of décor around the room. Flynn deserved some decorating, deserved to have a room that felt homey. If she shared a room with him, she’d definitely put up some posters, some curtains on the window, a rug on the floor.

She settled back against the pillows to wait. He wanted to avoid her? He had another think coming.

 

* * *

 

Flynn had not planned on talking to anyone about Lucy, but when Jiya had literally grabbed his arm and said, “you’re coming with me,” he’d suspected there was no use arguing.

Which was why he was now walking through the woods with Jiya as she asked him what exactly the fucking hell he was thinking avoiding Lucy and had he learned nothing and was he going to woman up and just tell her how he felt or was Jiya going to have to do it for him because I will do it for you, Garcia Middle Name Flynn, don’t think that I won’t.

“My middle name is Miljenko,” Flynn noted.

“So not the point!” Jiya yelled. A few birds took off above them, startled. “That woman wants you—”

“She’s in love with Wyatt, you should have seen her when I told her Jess was defecting—”

“Wyatt? _Wyatt_!?” Jiya looked like she might genuinely punch him. “You mean the guy who she hasn’t so much as looked twice at since she got back, the guy she gave the most platonic hug in the history of hugging to when she got out of the car, the guy who is spending all of his time going through divorce proceedings with his wife and hasn’t even had a cup of coffee with Lucy? _That_ guy? Flynn, you’ve had more interactions with Wyatt than Lucy has since she got back. You made him coffee! I don’t think Lucy even said good morning to him yesterday!”

“She can’t—”

“She can, and she does. She wants _you_ , you idiot,” Jiya snapped. “Think about it, out of all of her clients, she slept with you. The one guy she definitely shouldn’t have slept with, the guy it would have compromised her the most to sleep with, and she went and she did it anyway. That doesn’t maybe tell you something?”

Flynn blew out a breath, trying to keep the earthquake in his chest from showing. “Look, Jiya, even if she did have feelings for me…”

“She does, but go on.”

Flynn glared at her. “Even if Lucy did have feelings for me, she can’t. Do you understand? She shouldn’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because—because I lied to her. I haven’t told her—I haven’t told her the whole truth. About the journal.”

Jiya stared at him, her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that…” Flynn inhaled. “I mean that the Lucy who gave me the journal, she made it clear… that I don’t make it.”

Some of the color drained from Jiya’s face. “What?”

“I don’t make it,” Flynn repeated. “I don’t know how or when, but I’m going to die.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy swam slowly out of her dream. She’d been… something about cats. Didn’t matter. She felt the bed dipping, heard someone swallow carefully. “Lucy?”

She blinked her eyes open. She’d fallen asleep on Flynn’s bed, waiting for him. “Oh.” She cleared her throat, focusing in on Flynn. He was sitting on the side of the bed and looking at her like she was a snake that might strike. “Garcia.”

“Everything all right?” he asked, his tone cautious and his eyes guarded.

Lucy sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “I was waiting… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s fine. I was on a walk with Jiya.”

“Conveniently wherever I’m not,” she pointed out, putting her hands in her lap. She stared at him. “What is going on? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

A look of pain flashed across Flynn’s face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure about that? Because ever since we got back you’ve been—you’ve run away from me every time I enter a room.” She twisted the bedsheets in her hands, trying not to sound as hurt and lost as she felt, trying to sound calm and mature. “I’d thought that we—that maybe—”

“Lucy—”

“Is it that you’re not over Lorena? Because if so I respect that. I do. She meant a lot to you, she was—I would never want to replace—”

“Ah, no, it’s not…” Flynn winced. “I’ll always love her and Iris. But that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t want me to move on again and find happiness. I really struggled with that concept when I lost Josip. It took me a long time to stop feeling guilty and to understand that moving on doesn’t mean that you no longer love that person you lost.”

“Then what is it?” Lucy blurted out. “Because you need it, I know you do, I can see it every time before you run out of a room. You’re tense, you’re strung out…”

“So are you, Denise has been putting you through the wringer with this upcoming trial…”

“But I don’t need—what you need,” Lucy said, adding weight to her words.

Flynn glanced away.

“Garcia,” she said, putting a tone of command in her voice. “Look at me.”

Flynn snapped his eyes up to hers, instinctively following her order.

“You need this,” Lucy whispered. “If nothing else, at least let me help you with that. Let me… help you get that release.”

Flynn looked her boldly in the eye. “What about Wyatt?”

She paused, confused. “What about him?”

They stared at one another for a moment. Lucy furrowed her brow. “Do you—did you think that I—I’m not in love with him. I thought I was. I was… lost and he said he needed me and I cared for him, very much. I still do, but… then I got the rug yanked out from under me and—I just wanted someone to love me. A lover, a mother, someone. It’s why…” Her voice wobbled. “Why Candace hurt so much.”

Flynn’s eyes grew dark and soft. “Lucy…”

“I don’t want pity,” she snapped. “Not from you of all people. I’m not to be pitied. Poor little rich girl, absolutely not.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “But I’m not in love with Wyatt. I want him to be happy. I worry about him, and him and Jess. But I’m not holding my breath and crying into my pillow or whatever you think it is.”

“So you’re offering to keep our sexual relationship going,” Flynn said, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Well what else should I be offering?” Lucy demanded. As if he hadn’t been pulling away from her at every turn the moment they were away from the cameras, as if his behavior hadn’t made it clear that he had no interest outside of the client room—

Flynn looked down at his lap. “Lucy, there’s… there’s something I need to tell you and you’re not going to like it.”

She stared at him, poised, ready to hear his official rejection. _I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings, I’m sorry I can’t feel the same way that you do…_

Flynn looked up at her. “I wasn’t honest with you, about São Paulo. I didn’t tell you the full truth. And at first maybe I can… excuse myself because it would have been awkward to tell you everything. And I wanted to protect your—her—privacy. But given… everything… I should have told you.”

Oh, God. Lucy’s mind raced with horrible possibilities. “What?” she whispered. What could be so awful that he’d held it back from her, after all that she’d trusted him with, all that they had shared?

“You were very upset when you came to me, in the bar. When you gave me the journal. You, ah… you said that you knew everything about me. That you knew why I was drinking myself to death, that you knew what I’d lost, and that you knew there was more to me than… than this. That I was a hero, and could be again, and that I could fight back against the people who’d taken everything from me. And you looked—you looked so close to tears while you said it.” Flynn huffed out an almost-laugh. “It hurt just to look at you. When I asked you—who you were and why I should trust you—you said that all the answers were in the journal. And then I asked you why you’d come to me, and you said that…”

Flynn swallowed, looking away, at the opposite wall. “You said that you loved me. That you’d loved me since I’d first kissed you. In the journal it said that it was after the _Titanic_ , in that first timeline. Something about that mission brought us together.”

Lucy couldn’t breathe. She was frozen. She’d been naked in front of Flynn and yet she had never felt more exposed than she did in this moment.

“You tried to walk out of the bar after that.” Flynn’s voice was rough, strained. “I followed you. We ended up… we spent the night together.”

Lucy’s stomach dropped out. They’d—Flynn had slept with her? Or a version of her? He hadn’t said anything all this time… “Are you ashamed of it?”

Flynn’s head jerked up, his eyes going a bit wide. “No.” He made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “It’s just that…”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to tell you that I’d slept with you? That you’d fucked me? How do I even—how was that supposed to even come up?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Flynn, maybe doing one of the many times we’d had sex together?” Lucy shot back, her voice cracking—much to her dismay. “You couldn’t have brought it up then? Was that—was that why you—how you knew—”

He’d been so good for her, _so good_ … everything she’d ever wanted in a sexual partner and… had it been because he’d known?

“Did she tell you how to fuck me?” she whispered. She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “Did she tell you… how I liked things, is that how…”

Flynn looked like he was hoping a black hole would appear so he could throw himself into it. “In a manner of speaking.”

Lucy wanted to laugh hysterically, brutally, until the sound bruised her lungs. “So you were all ready for this assignment. You’d already had your training.”

Flynn turned burning eyes onto her. “It wasn’t _training_ ,” he grit out. “You were—”

“She’s not me,” Lucy snapped, getting up from the bed and pacing, trying to do something with the reckless hurricane of energy building inside of her. “She and I aren’t the same person. The journal said we first kissed after the _Titanic_ , well, no sinking ships in sight here and we kissed in a goddamn sex club to maintain a cover. So right away that’s blown out of the water. She’s not me.”

“All right,” Flynn said, and she hated how measured his voice was. “She was upset, she was mourning, so was I, it was—it wasn’t pretty but it was what we needed.”

“Did we lose?” Lucy whispered. _Mourning_. It was the only thing she could think of, why she’d gone back in time, traveled on her own timeline and risked herself when Mason said it was so dangerous. “Did Rittenhouse…”

“She wouldn’t say it out loud,” Flynn acknowledged. “But when I followed her outside the bar, she kissed me…” He swallowed. “That kiss, and the way we—the way she, ah—and afterwards, we dozed for a while and she wouldn’t stop shaking and holding onto me and so—I mean. Some things don’t need to be said.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She was wearing my wedding ring around her neck, under her shirt.”

Lucy’s breath went cold in her lungs.

“She didn’t have a ring on her finger so I’m guessing we didn’t marry in that timeline, maybe there just wasn’t time, I don’t know, but… I wouldn’t have given her that ring. If I do ever stop wearing it as my wedding ring, I’ll still keep it. I couldn’t take anything with me, when I fled, it’s all I have of Lorena and Iris. So if she had it…” Flynn shrugged. “That only meant one thing. And her behavior was pretty obvious.”

So.

In another timeline, Flynn had died.

He’d died, and her other self had come back, and she’d fucked him and taught him how to fuck her and she’d convinced him to throw his life away on a crazy mission and even now he was talking about her with this devastated look in his eyes and saying that she and Lucy were the same person when they weren’t…

Oh.

“You can see why… it didn't seem fair to tell you about something when I was headed for a particular ending.”

“So you just made that decision for me? I thought that was everyone else's job, I thought you were different.” Lucy swallowed down bile. You were supposed to be the one who actually, I don't know, respected my ability to make my own choices?”

“I know. I was trying to… protect you, I suppose. As misguided as that sounds. I'm sorry. If it makes any difference. I am sorry.” Flynn scrubbed a hand across his face.

A painfully awkward, thick silence fell. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this out of sync with Flynn, this pained, this raw.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who has one night stands,” Lucy noted dully.

“I’m not,” Flynn replied. “She rather made herself an exception. It’s hard to turn something like that away, when you’re lost, when the other person so clearly… needs you.” She watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. “She asked me to be careful. Made me promise her, in fact. I don’t think I really held to that promise very well.”

“So it really was all for her.”

“Lorena and Iris, too,” Flynn added. “No matter what… connection was forged one night doesn’t replace seven years of marriage.”

“No, of course. I wasn’t… implying that.” Lucy paused, then took the plunge. “You did fall in love with her, though. That Lucy.”

Flynn carefully avoided her gaze. “Yes.”

So there it was.

She wasn’t her other. That other Lucy wasn’t her, they hadn’t had the same experiences. She was a possibility that had vanished as events had shifted, changed, made Lucy into someone else. But she had existed, at one point, and she’d gotten two versions of Flynn to fall in love with her.

“I can see why you didn’t tell me,” Lucy said quietly. Rather awkward, to explain to a woman that you’re in love with another version of her.

She’d suspected as much, back when she’d argued with him in the hotel while Mason and Connor had gone to the bar. When she’d said that she wasn’t the same as the person in the journal and that Flynn didn’t know her, she’d been wondering if maybe the feelings he’d harbored for Journal Lucy had been more than just admiration. But there was such a thing as a platonic savior, like an angel or a priest or a child or some random stranger, and she hadn’t known for certain where the woman in the journal had fallen on that spectrum, and she’d been fragile enough, she hadn’t wanted to push.

Now she had her confirmation.

How cruel to both of them, then, that this whole time she’d been sleeping with a man who didn’t love her back, and he’d been sleeping with a ghost?

“I should have, but I didn’t want…” Flynn made a noise of frustration and then sighed, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Especially after our talk in the hotel. After you’d said I didn’t know you and you were right, I thought—well if I told you—you’d think it was my claiming to know you again. And I didn’t want you to worry about… about what had happened to me. What might still happen.”

“And you didn’t think I had a right to know you might die?”

“The future isn’t certain but if it is then I didn’t want it to affect any of our plans, our decisions. Our goal is Rittenhouse, not my life.”

“So you can just throw away your life, is that it.”

“Would you rather I told you hey, we fucked in Brazil and I fell in love with you in the span of, what, six hours? Would that have been better?”

“For the last time,” Lucy snapped. “ _She_ is not me.” She was a different person. Flynn hadn’t fallen in love with her, he’d fallen in love with the other Lucy. Even if he didn’t seem to quite understand that at times.

Lucy took a deep breath. All right. So. Flynn was tense, so tense he looked like he was going to start vibrating, and he needed release and frankly she needed to think about something other than the move against Rittenhouse tomorrow and if that meant he needed her to pretend to be her other self, if that was who he’d been chasing this whole time, the woman he’d gotten one perfect night with before he’d met this other, flawed, inferior version—then fine.

She could do that.

 

* * *

 

Flynn waited for Lucy to snap at him again. He’d deserve it, honestly, for keeping such a big secret from her. For not telling her how intimately he’d known her from the start, especially once they’d started sleeping together. For assuming that she was like the other version of herself, that she did or could love him, for putting her on a pedestal and in a box.

Instead, Lucy said quietly, “What did she do to you?”

Flynn looked up. “What?”

Lucy gave a wet laugh. “Sorry. That makes it sound like it was without your consent. What did you two do together?”

Flynn was… confused. Why did she want to know this? “She tied me down, had me eat her out, then had me fuck her from behind. I think it was a little easier for both of us if we didn’t see each other’s face. I wasn’t her Flynn and she wasn’t Lorena.”

He’d both wanted it to be Lucy, and had wanted it to be Lorena. He’d been thinking of his wife for half of it, fading in and out of the present moment, present and past wishes mingling in his mind. He was pretty sure he’d said the wrong name a couple of times but if Lucy had noticed, she’d been kind enough not to say anything.

“All right, then.” Lucy nodded. She walked over to the bedroom door and turned the latch, locking it.

“…Lucy?”

“If you say no then of course I’m going to stop,” Lucy said, still turned away from him. Her voice was neutral. He couldn’t read anything in it. “But you look like you’re going to jump out of your skin. Or rip it right off. You need a session, Flynn, and you can’t lie to me and tell me you don’t. If you don’t _want_ one, then I get that, but…”

Flynn stared at her. He was missing something, he knew it. He’d made it pretty clear just now: he’d fallen in love with her in São Paulo. He’d been chasing her ever since.

Was Lucy really that angry at him? Was this a last… goodbye fuck, in a way? He did need it, fuck, he felt like his spine was coiling so tight he was going to snap. He needed to stop thinking for two goddamn seconds, especially when Lucy was walking into the lion’s den tomorrow and none of them could truly predict how it would end.

“You need this too,” he pointed out as she walked over to him.

Lucy nudged his legs apart, coming to stand between them. “Maybe.”

Then she kissed him.

It wasn’t anything like the kisses they’d shared lately. This was broken, angry, consuming, a wildfire that had gone out of control. Flynn felt consumed and condemned.

Looked like Lucy was done talking.

He knew something was wrong, that a puzzle piece was crammed in the wrong way, but he was also sick of talking, sick of Lucy looking at him like he was twisting a knife into her, and she was clearly done talking as well and fine, if what she wanted was sex instead of whatever this argument was, then he would take it, because he was weak and he wanted her and he needed to stop fucking _thinking_.

“I have some ties in the drawer,” he told her. They were actual, put-around-his-neck ties, not proper wrists-to-the-headboard ties, but they’d work in a pinch.

Lucy raked her gaze over him. “Then strip.”

Flynn’s breath was punched out of him. They were really doing this.

There was something at once so mundane and so surreal about it, outside of the club, in his bedroom, wearing their boring jeans and shirts, their street clothes. Lucy was on the verge of out of control and it felt like a dark mirror of that night, of the way her other had clung to him, kissing him while she’d tied his wrists blindly, salt on their lips, their eyes burning. She was doing it now, biting into his mouth, tearing her own clothes off, her nails raking his form.

She braced herself over him and he licked into her, lost himself in her, let himself worship her one last time because he had no doubt that after this she wasn’t going to let him so much as hug her. Lucy shook above him, rocking her hips subtly into his tongue. He knew she liked it a bit rough and he wasn’t in the mood to be gentle—and neither was Lucy, shuddering when he bit her thigh and coming hard when he scraped his teeth over her clit.

It didn’t occur to him, until she untied him and checked that his wrists were all right, that she was imitating the time in São Paulo.

“Are you sure?” he asked. Something about—saying her name felt taboo at the moment, like he couldn’t get away with saying that right now.

“Are you disobeying an order?” Lucy shot back.

He kissed her then, almost snarling into her mouth, because she was goading him and getting as close to truly using him as she ever had, and it felt like every time they touched each other they were smearing pitch all over each other’s skin, feeding fire into each other’s mouths. He turned her around, tugging fiercely on her hair to get her head at the right angle to kiss down her neck as he slid his fingers into her—making sure, just in case. Lucy was small, and no matter how angry they were at each other he wasn’t going to hurt her.

The sound Lucy made when he slid inside of her felt like a knife to the heart. “ _God_ , yes,” she hissed, pushing back into him. She reached around and grabbed his hip, getting him to move.

Without her even saying it out loud he heard the order: _don’t you dare be gentle._

He sucked bruises up her spine as he fucked her, losing himself in her, wishing he could see her expression, until he tucked his face into her neck and just focused on the wild heat of her and the sounds she was making.

At some point his hands covered hers where she braced herself on the bed and Lucy squeezed is fingers tightly, painfully tightly, like she was trying to wrench them off.

He felt her coming at the same time he did and thought, of course, this was the one moment they were on the same page.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t spend the night.

They fell in a heap together afterwards, and she waited until Flynn was asleep to slip out, and take a quick shower, scrubbing as if she could get rid of the memory of him along with the sweat and semen.

She and Denise left early in the morning, before anyone else was up. She stared outside the car window the whole time, answering Denise’s test questions on autopilot.

At least she was too drained to be nervous about the trial.

Lucy got out of the car, leaning into Denise as the older woman put an arm around her shoulder. “Just keep your head down,” Denise said quietly. “We have to get past the front steps but there won’t be any reporters inside.”

“What about Rittenhouse assassins?”

“I think I can help with those.”

Denise whipped out a gun faster than Lucy could blink, turning around and pointing it at—

Stacy.

She was wearing her hair down in a braid and wearing a tailored suit. Behind her stood a slightly banged-up looking Candace.

“Agent Christopher, I presume,” Stacy said. “I’m Sergeant Martindale. My friend here and I would like to turn state’s witness in the following trial.”

Denise slowly lowered her gun. Lucy looked over at Candace.

Candace nodded, slightly.

“We can trust them,” Lucy said. “We can use them.”

Denise put her gun back. “All right. Let’s take care of this, then.”

Lucy ducked her head down, took a deep breath—and let Denise lead her into the courthouse.

It was time.


	14. Chapter 14

Flynn had taken to hiding in his room.

Lucy was still in D.C. with Denise while they sorted the whole mess out. Stacy and Candace had both, apparently, turned witness and it was creating a whole bunch of hoopla and the media was all over it and long story short Rittenhouse might be just about crippled but this wasn’t a story that was going to go away anytime soon.

It was a good thing that Denise had created so much paperwork for Lucy as Derica Wallace. At least when she went back into the world as Lucy Preston, people wouldn’t be hounding her.

Whenever that was. The Mothership wasn’t jumping since Emma was apparently busy with this whole trial thing but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t. Changing the past was all that Rittenhouse had left to resort to after this second of huge blows in two years. Everyone was jumpy, waiting for the moment the alarms would go off.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Lucy. If she was all right. If she felt claustrophobic in the courtroom. If the lawyers were being kind. If Denise was really able to keep her safe from a Rittenhouse attack.

He should be there with them, damn it, to make sure that Lucy was okay. Even if she was still pissing mad at him and didn’t want to see him.

She’d snuck out while he’d been asleep. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye—which he supposed he deserved. Her anger at his lie had been tangible. He’d been able to taste it on his tongue.

If she had been close to being in love with him, he supposed she wasn’t anymore. He’d broken her trust just like Wyatt had.

The bedroom door opened and Rufus stuck his head in. “Hey, Flynn? Buddy? Mind taking a look at this for me?”

Flynn forced himself to sit up. “Yeah, sure.”

He followed Rufus downstairs and to where the Lifeboat was stationed. Rufus led him over to the computers, and then pressed play.

“Whoa,” Flynn yelled, scrambling for the keyboard to shut it off as the video—oh God it was him and Lucy it was _their_ video—filled the screen.

Rufus smacked Flynn’s hands away. “Do you know what this shit is?” he demanded.

“It’s the reason I’m going to _kill_ you if you don’t turn that off right the fuck now before someone else sees it!” Flynn hissed. Lucy would never want anyone to see this, she’d be humiliated, she’d be mortified—

“I’m just transferring them,” Rufus said.

It was the video of the time Lucy had punished him for tearing her underwear (and choosing such a smarmy safe word, and for being a smart ass, and…) and she was on top of him. He’d been completely out of it, he remembered, but distinctly did not remember the look on his face.

Well, ‘besotted adoration’ was probably the best way to describe it.

Flynn wanted to find a corner to die in. “Turn. That. Off,” he grit out.

Rufus did look a little, well, terrified, but he stood his ground. “Do you know where I found this?”

“On the club’s files.”

“Nope. On the flash drive Stacy gave you, with the client files. This video and the one where you guys just napped were the only two Lucy didn’t delete. Do you know where I’m transferring them?”

Flynn’s stomach dropped out. “Did Denise see these?”

“No, Flynn, and you’re missing the point. Where am I transferring these?”

“You should be _deleting_ them—”

Rufus closed the video, then held up a flash drive.

He recognized it. It was the flash drive that Lucy had asked him to give to Rufus to put on the Lifeboat.

“I’m transferring them to this.” Rufus plugged the flash drive into the computer. “Do you know what’s on here? I didn’t, because privacy and all that, but when I was going through the files Stacy gave us and found these two videos, I realized what had to be on here.”

He opened up the files on the flash drive, and a row of videos popped up. They were all just labeled with a date—the dates that Flynn had gone to see Lucy.

“She was supposed to delete them from the club, and she did,” Rufus said. “But she put a copy on this drive, and she made me put it in the Lifeboat. The _Lifeboat_ , Flynn.”

“It’s just…” Flynn stuttered, his heart scrambling in his chest. “It’s masturbation material, or—”

“Really?” Rufus gaped at him. “Are you seriously that thick? Lucy keeps Amy’s _photograph_ on the Lifeboat, you dumbass!” He waved wildly at the computer screen. “If she’s asking me to keep these on the time machine then that means that she wants them preserved no matter what, just like Denise with the drive that has photos of her fucking wife and kids, what does that tell you, Flynn? What exactly does that tell you?”

He smacked Flynn on the chest. “It tells you that she considers this so damn important she doesn’t want any timeline changing it. She wants this fucking preserved. Out of all the things in the world she could choose to keep, she chooses the photograph of her sister, the one proof that Amy existed—and her sessions with you! She’s in love with you, you absolute pile of shitty cognitive thinking!”

Rufus poked him. “And you’re going to tell her about this, are we clear? You’re going to look her in the eye and you’re going to say _I love you, Lucy Preston_ , no other words, no other combination of words, no hemming and hawing, because so help me if I have to find videos of you two going at it then I’m going to at least get rid of this stupid romantic tension that’s been driving us all insane!”

Flynn stared as Rufus’s chest heaved. “Do you need some water or something?”

“I hate you,” Rufus said weakly. “I really do. You’re so stupid. I can’t believe it. She’s in love with you. Dumbass. She risked everything to get those videos and Stacy risked a lot in getting those two last ones to her because she saw how you to feel about each other. Don’t fucking let that go to waste, okay?”

He finished transferring the videos onto the flash drive, took the flash drive out, shoved it into Flynn’s hands, and marched out.

 

* * *

 

Lucy was exhausted.

She was so tired. So very tired. This had been going on for what felt like years.

But it was finally done.

Denise had to stay in town to wrap this up, but… they’d done it. Lucy could go home.

Whatever the given value of ‘home’ was now.

Candace wasn’t necessarily going to forgive her. She understood that. But she wasn’t necessarily going to forgive Candace either. They’d hurt each other just about equally in this. Lucy couldn’t exactly blame the woman for trying to contain the damage when Lucy had been the one to bring the damage to her doorstep.

But in the courtroom they had reached a sort of… peace with what had happened. When Lucy met Candace’s eyes, there was no anger. Just softness.

Stacy, on the other hand, was actively petitioning Denise to join the team. “C’mon, c’mon, please? I’m probably about to be out of a job, please please please? Pleeeeeaaaase?”

Lucy just hoped that the club would continue. She didn’t want the other workers, and especially Candace, to get screwed over because of this. She hoped that they would all be all right.

She slumped onto the hotel bed, waiting for Wyatt to pick her up. Denise had insisted that it would be Wyatt. “You think I haven’t noticed what’s going on between you and Flynn?” she’d said when Lucy had tried to argue for someone else.

She just… really didn’t want to be subject to another ill-timed love confession or something like that. Wyatt had been respectful to her this whole time but that didn’t mean—well. She had no idea where he stood with her, honestly.

There was a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” Lucy called. If it was Emma then go ahead, c’mon in, Lucy honestly felt dead inside.

Wyatt entered. “I, uh, brought you dinner. Figured you could eat it in the car.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, Denise said you weren’t eating. That wasn’t a request.” Wyatt passed her the bag of food and then grabbed her suitcase. “You okay? Holding up all right?”

“I suppose.”

“The trial went really well. Those guys are sunk.”

“I suppose.”

Wyatt frowned. “Did you and Flynn have a fight?”

“Am I that obvious?” she whispered, smiling painfully.

Wyatt sighed, setting down her bag. “Look, whatever it is, you’ll work it out.”

She laughed hollowly. “Fat chance of that.” She fell back onto the bed, clapping her hands over her eyes. “It’s the same old story, I fell and he didn’t.”

There was a long pause. Long enough for Lucy to peek out from between her fingers.

Wyatt was staring at her like she’d just grown a second head.

“Sorry,” he spluttered. “Did you just say you think Flynn isn’t in love with you?”

“I mean, he sort of is. If my other self counts.” Lucy let her hands flop to her sides. “He fell in love with her when she gave him the journal. He doesn’t love me.

“Lucy.” Wyatt threw his hands wide in exasperation. “The idiot’s not in love with another version of you, he’s in love with _you_ , period! We’ve all had to watch him pining for months!”

“You don’t know—”

“I do know that, okay? Because he told me, all right?” Wyatt put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. Look, I can’t believe I’m the one saying this to you because I’ll be fuckin’ honest, I wanted him far away from you. The last thing I wanted was for him to get close to you. Because I had feelings for you and I was being selfish about them. But he makes you happy, Lucy, for Christ’s sake, the man would cut his own heart out if you asked him. When are you going to believe that you deserve to be happy?”

Lucy’s stomach churned. She sat up. “I don’t… I believe that.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been through some real shit, Lucy, I get that, and I’m sorry for whatever part I played in all of that. But you deserve to be happy. How hard is it to believe that the man loves you? Because he does, fuck, it’s—even I could see it long before I wanted to.” Wyatt walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Luce. Hey.” He shook her slightly. “Trust me. He adores you.”

Lucy looked down at her hands in her lap. “What if you’re wrong?” she whispered.

“I’m not wrong. I mean of all people, right? If I’m telling you that motherfucking Flynn is in love with you then you have to believe me.”

Lucy looked up into his face. She had trusted Wyatt, once upon a time. She’d really, really trusted him. And in his face right now she saw the Wyatt that she’d come to have feelings for, the one who’d picked her up when she was down.

“Everybody promised me things,” she admitted. “You said—you said I hadn’t lost you. But then I did. I lost my mom, my sister, my dad… and the journal Lucy, she… she lost Flynn, he died. What if I lose him too? What if it’s not coming up yet, how it happens to him, and I can’t stop it? Rittenhouse is crippled but Emma still has the Mothership.”

“Not if the property seizing goes the way Denise hopes, it won’t,” Wyatt pointed out. “But Lucy, none of us know when our time comes. How is it any different than if Flynn got hit by a car? Or got cancer?”

She felt tears pricking her eyes and she wiped at them savagely. “I can’t believe you’re actually making sense.”

Wyatt grinned. “I know, right? Look, if I’m wrong, you can beat me up, I won’t even fight back. God knows Jess’ll hold my arms down for you.”

He gently squeezed her. “He’s so in love with you, Lucy. I promise. And hey, did you tell him you were in love with him?”

She stared at him. “Why—”

“He’s an idiot, Lucy. He needs things in plain English. Or plain Croatian but we don’t speak that so. Tell him that. Say, _I love you_.” Wyatt’s face got serious, his voice quiet. “Because I guarantee you, that’s what he needs to hear.”

Lucy didn’t respond to that, but she thought about it all the way home.

 

* * *

 

Flynn sat on the living room couch, turning the flash drive over and over in his hands.

Lucy had kept these videos.

He hadn’t watched them, other than the bit Rufus had shown him. He didn’t want to invade Lucy’s privacy. Even if, technically, he supposed he had a right to watch them seeing as he was in them as well.

But he couldn’t get the expression on Lucy’s face out of his head. The way she’d stared at him as she’d fucked him.

He hardly dared to hope.

The front door opened and he heard thumping feet. “I’m beat,” he heard Wyatt say. “Sleep good all right? You earned it.”

He didn’t hear exactly what Lucy said, just the murmur of her voice, and then he heard softer feet and knew she was entering from behind him.

“Garcia?”

He swallowed. Turned to face her.

Lucy looked exhausted. There were circles under her eyes, her hair was tied back in a tired ponytail, and her blouse and suit pants were rumpled.

“Lucy.” He stood up, the flash drive cradled in the curve of his fingers. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Worn out, but… I’d rather not talk about the trial right now.”

“No, of course. Do you—do you need water, or—”

“I love you,” Lucy blurted out.

Flynn stared at her. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard right. “You—did you—”

Lucy made a noise of desperate frustration and strode over to him, grabbing him by the front of his sweater and yanking him down to her, smashing her mouth to his. Flynn’s free hand, the one not holding the drive, landed on her hip, curling carefully around the shape of it, like he didn’t dare touch her too intensely but he’d float away if he didn’t anchor himself somehow.

“I don’t know how or when,” Lucy admitted. “I can’t—I can’t do what she did and give you a specific date. I just know that at some point it happened and I swear when I found out I cried because—because I thought you couldn’t possibly—and it’s like there’s something sharp in my chest and I feel it every time I breathe and I’m s-sorry but I do, and I wouldn’t have said anything but Wyatt said that you—and I thought—”

Flynn wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her, struggling to keep his ragged breathing from going out of control and making him lose all words. “I know that I compared you to her, and I’m sorry. But I love you—more than I have the words to say. In any language.”

He brought his other hand up, brushing his curved knuckles against her cheek. “You are… the most beautiful thing in the world to me. You are a point of light in absolute darkness, you’re—you’re everything, Lucy, you are absolutely everything—”

She kissed him again, going up onto her tiptoes, and he tightened his arm around her waist just a bit as she opened her mouth and her tongue slid against his and Lucy made a noise like she was dying. “It’s not the sex,” she whispered against his lips. “I just wanted you to know it wasn’t that, it was—you’re here, you’ve been here for me and I feel safe with you and I just—I meant the sex is great but—”

“I slept with you because I loved you,” he promised her. “This you. I knew you weren’t her, I never—I never thought of it that way. I wouldn’t have… let you do anything, but I thought it was what you wanted and I loved you—”

She kissed him again and neither of them talked for a while after that.

It was far from the first time they’d kissed, and it wasn’t necessarily any more magical for their confessions. Flynn didn’t see rainbows or hear fireworks. But it felt like something in him had finally loosened, a knife had dislodged, and he could breathe freely at last.

Lucy kissed him over and over again, like she wanted to get drunk on him. “ _Draga_ ,” he murmured, smiling in spite of himself as she kept at it. “ _Uspori_ , slow down, _moja lijepa_ , we have time.” There was no timer, no clock, no video now.

“I don’t know what any of those words mean but I don’t want you to stop saying them,” Lucy admitted in a breathless rush, twisting her hands in his sweater.

Flynn took a deep breath, a tiny part of him still shying away, not used to openly telling her how he felt. “I said… I said, darling, slow down, my… my beautiful, we have time.”

Lucy’s eyes shown, the smile on her face soft and light in a way he’d never seen before. If this was Lucy Preston happy, then he never wanted to see her any other way. “For the record, I welcome all the pet names.”

He went to stroke her hair, as he used to, only to remember that the drive was still in his hand. “Ah. Rufus… told me what was on this.”

He held it out to her. “I didn’t look at anything. I thought—I didn’t want to invade. But he said that you wanted him to put this on the Lifeboat, and that if so that meant that it was important to you… and that I should consider the idea that perhaps you felt the same way that I did.”

Lucy took the drive, biting her lip. “I didn’t want to ever forget,” she whispered. “I wasn’t on jumps so I feared… something might change how I felt about you. Like how my mother forgot about Amy. And I didn’t want someone else to have control over my fate like that.”

She pulled away from him, walking over to the Lifeboat and climbing inside, emerging without the drive. “This is our story. And I think it’s—it’s odd but we’re lucky that it was recorded because now nobody can take it from us with time travel. They’re safe.”

Lucy paused about a foot away from him, as if still hesitating out of habit.

Flynn realized what she was waiting for and opened his arms.

Lucy stepped into them, burying her head in his chest, and he felt her slumping as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “You’re worn out, you should go to bed.”

She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his chest, her palms spanning his back. “Not yet,” she whispered.

“I’ll go with you.” He didn’t mind winding down for the day as long as he was with her.

Lucy tipped her head up, her chin resting on his chest. “We didn’t really do it right, did we? Our first time without the cameras.”

Flynn felt an echo of pain. “Not really.”

“Then let’s do it right this time,” she whispered.

He gently ran the tips of his fingers over the curve of her ear, down her jaw. “Are you sure that you should be in charge right now?” He trusted her not to hurt him or to neglect him, but he didn’t want her to exert herself when she was clearly already frayed, at the end of her rope.

“We could have regular sex. That is a thing that people have.”

“Or… you liked it, when I pinned your wrists to the wall.”

“I did.”

“Do you… like being tied down?”

Lucy’s cheeks went a bit pink. “Yes.”

“Maybe it’s my turn, then. Not—not to be in charge, but… let me take care of you.” Let him make her feel good, let him take all the stress away from her. She’d had to be so in control, so careful of herself, these last few days with the trial. He wanted to help her bleed all of that away, make her boneless and sated.

Lucy’s cheeks got a little darker and he felt her nails pricking into his back. “All right,” she whispered.

Flynn kissed her softly. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her, and now he was allowed to show her.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Flynn did, to Lucy’s surprise, was pull her into the shower.

She understood why once they got under the spray. She could literally feel the awful courtroom sensation peeling off of her like an old skin, leaving her feeling refreshed, more herself. They got soap and shampoo everywhere as she tried to wash Flynn’s hair, getting up on her tiptoes as he bent down, laughing, and then as she let him run his hands all over her with soap, gently massaging her shoulders until she felt like a complete puddle.

Kissing him under the warm water was wonderful, too. It was like kissing in the rain only better because, well, rain was cold.

She stole his bathrobe to wear on the short walk to his room, Flynn in sweatpants and nothing else, playfully yanking on the tie of the robe and telling her to give it back.

“You want it?” she laughed once the bedroom door was closed. She felt light, so light inside, like she was floating. “Here.”

She let the too-big robe fall off her shoulders and kicked it at him. Flynn, predictably, was too busy gaping at her to catch it and it hit him full in the face.

He practically tackled her onto the bed and she giggled uncontrollably, stopping only when he kissed her. Oh, yes, this was what being in love was supposed to feel like. She swore she could’ve done anything in that moment, she could’ve flown if someone had asked her to, all of the pain that had been weighing her down like an iron yoke around her neck finally lifted. Flynn loved her, he loved her, he was in love with her just as she was in love with him and it felt like nothing else mattered so much as that.

She couldn’t say how long they kissed for, but it was long enough for Flynn to settle between her thighs and for her to get good and wet, to have her arching up into his mouth and grinding against his cock as it grew hard against her thigh and his hands skimmed up and down her sides.

“Mm-hmm,” Flynn hummed, shaking his head. “I’m taking my time with you, _draga_.”

She shivered. She loved the sound of those words flowing off his tongue, curling in her ear, but she liked them better now that she knew what they meant. “I could order you, you know.”

“You could,” Flynn agreed in a smug tone that told her he knew that she wouldn’t actually. She just didn’t have the energy to properly top right now.

But she trusted Flynn to take care of her and to take all the cares of the day off her shoulders.

He kissed down her neck, soft, nibbling kisses that had her twisting her hips and gasping, then between her breasts, getting a handful of her hair and tugging that way she liked as he lapped at a nipple and then took it in his mouth, fluttering his tongue against it, sucking, worrying it slightly between his teeth. Lucy ran her hand through his hair, moaning a little as he moved to her other breast, apparently determined to truly lavish her with attention.

Not that she was complaining.

“I thought… you said something about tying me up?” Lucy asked, her breath hitching as Flynn sucked hard at her breast before pulling away.

“I did, didn’t I?”

Lucy slid her hand down from his hair to cup his cheek. “It would be rude of you to go against a promise to your mistress, wouldn’t it?”

“Very rude of me, ma’am.” Flynn’s smile was sin even before he winked at her.

“Then why don’t you be good and tie me up?” she ordered. “And then finish what you started.”

Flynn turned his face into her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist, and then moved back to grab the ties she’d used on him the other night. They’d have to get some proper equipment—she already had some ideas for a nice collar—but for now, these would do nicely.

Lucy reached up and gripped the rails of the bed as Flynn bent over her, carefully weaving the fabric under and over and through and around, tying it off. “Tug for me,” he asked quietly.

She did so, nodding at him when she felt the tightening of the restraints. They secured her, but if there was an emergency she could curl her hand down and tug on one of the ends of the knot and undo it.

Flynn knelt down on the bed, one knee braced between her thighs, and slowly slid his palms down her body. Lucy pressed into the touch, loving the slight catch of his calluses, the warm, rough sensation, the way his splayed hand could span her stomach.

He got to her thighs and lightly pressed them down, then followed the path of his hands with his mouth, kissing slowly, deliberately, down and down and down until he was hovering his mouth right over where she was obscenely wet and aching.

She tugged instinctively, arching, unable to move under the gentle but firm pressure of Flynn’s hands. Flynn curled a laugh against her thigh, biting down slightly before sucking, his tongue soothing out the sting. She could practically feel the mark starting to bloom on her skin, the color rising to the surface, and oh, that was a lovely thought. Flynn could mark her up as much as he wanted now and nobody could stop them or would care.

He made his way to the center of her slowly, giving her thighs and the bottom of her stomach plenty of attention, his hands holding her down in a way that made her blood thrum with delicious fire. She might—might—have been swearing a little in an attempt to make him get on with it, but she had also promised to let Flynn take care of her and he was clearly not going to be persuaded to hurry up tonight.

The first slide of his tongue through her folds made her choke, and then he curled his tongue inside of her in that way that he knew well by now, given all the times she’d made him do this to her. Now that her envy was set aside she could be grateful to her alternate self for giving him explicit instructions because oh, God, the man knew what he was doing.

Although to be frank, she doubted he’d needed much instruction at all in this department.

Flynn avoided her clit, the little shit, only occasionally flicking it with his tongue until Lucy was just about out of her goddamn mind. Her pants and moans definitely pleased him, judging by the rumbling noises coming out of his chest, but like hell if they were doing anything to get him to actually let her come, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, _finally_ , he got his mouth on her clit, sucking, his tongue scraping against it and she shuddered, her hands tightening around the rails, shuddering and melting as she practically ground herself against him. Flynn kept going, because of course he did, not at all derailed by her enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure if this counted as a second orgasm or if he’d just prolonged her first but she didn’t care when her mouth was falling open and the spring inside of her was unwinding and unwinding until she was an absolute mess and she felt fucking fantastic, her toes curling and fingers practically zapping with electricity.

She sucked in gulps of air, the world blurry, her legs shaking with aftershocks as Flynn gently massaged her thighs. He was murmuring something and going by his warm tone it was rather complimentary, but language was sort of beyond her at the moment.

Flynn was undeterred by this. He kissed back up her body to her breasts, taking his time with those as two fingers slid into her, curling, making sure that she was ready and loose before he pushed up and settled between her legs.

Then he paused.

Lucy got a leg around his ass and thumped him with the heel of her foot. “ _Garcia_.”

“Do you want me to use a…” Flynn paused. “Actually I don’t have any, I’d have to get one from Rufus or Jiya.”

“You’re asking me if I want you to use a condom?” They’d fucked without one twice now.

“The times we didn’t… the first time, I didn’t even think about it. And the second time neither of us was really in the right headspace.”

She can acknowledge that. She’d had a bit of a heart attack herself that first time, after he’d fucked her against the wall and she’d realized what they’d done.

“I’m clean, and I love you, and I don’t want to be with anyone else,” she promised him. “And I trust it’s the same with you. So…” She pushed her legs open a little more and ground her hips against his cock, causing him to slide through her folds, almost but not quite entering her. “Don’t stand on ceremony, sailor.”

Flynn flashed her a carefree, dare she even say devilish grin, before slowly sinking into her. He was all about taking his time tonight it seemed. Lucy couldn’t quite say she minded—she was impatient and greedy in bed and she’d be the first to admit it but not when Flynn was looking at her with such wonder in his eyes. She could literally see him thinking _beautiful_ when he looked at her and it made her heart thump wildly in her chest.

She’d told him that loving him had felt like pain, shards of ice lodged in her chest, and she’d meant that. The secret of it had weighed her down, the guilt of it, the certainty that she was alone in it.

But now it was like being wrapped up in a blanket. She felt cared for, adored, safe.

Lucy only hoped that she made him feel half of the depths that she did when she looked at him.

Flynn bent down, kissing her, his hips rolling leisurely. Lucy moaned into his mouth, feeling all of him inside of her, loving that deep stretch. She’d already come, she was fine without another orgasm, but she craved that feeling of connection, of knowing with sharp sensation every inch of him that was inside of her.

She tried to get some more leverage, but the ties and Flynn’s hands kept her down and all she could do was hang on as he fucked her, slow and deep, measured, his mouth musing kisses all over her face and neck. She chanted his name over and over, the only word she knew, the only word she wanted to know, until Flynn—thorough as ever—found that spot inside of her and she just about screamed and it was all a blur and the only thing she knew through the pleasure was his mouth at her ear saying her name and telling her he loved her.

Her arms fell limply down onto the pillows when he untied her, gently picking her up into his arms and settling her against his chest before massaging her hands and wrists. Lucy curled into him.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Flynn murmured.

Lucy hummed. “Very good,” she praised. “I might even expect repeat performances.”

He chuckled. She felt so very sleepy, and sated, and relaxed for the first time in days. “I’m going to get a washcloth. I’ll be right back.”

She shamelessly lay about while Flynn cleaned the two of them up, wrapping her arms around his neck when he slid back into bed. His hand came up to stroke through her hair, his other arm anchoring her, and between one breath and the next she was happily asleep.

 

* * *

 

Lucy slept, but he didn’t.

He just held her, his fingertips lightly brushing up and down her arm, as she lay curled up against his side, her head tucked under his chin.

He was going to spend the rest of his life with her if he could. And he wasn’t going to waste a second.

Flynn wasn’t sure how much time had passed between when she fell asleep and when she woke up. He just held her, idly stroking her hair and just marveling at the fact that he actually got to have this, until Lucy stirred.

There was a moment of confusion, her brow puckering, and then her eyes grew sharp and alert, and she looked up at him, the corner of her mouth turning upward in soft elation. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey.”

She reached up, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, his jawline. “We did it,” she said. “We mostly defeated Rittenhouse.”

“We’ll get Emma and the rest of them,” he promised her. They were running scared now. And this time they wouldn’t get the chance to strike back and hurt Lucy.

He tightened his grip on her slightly at the memory of those six weeks she’d been their prisoner. No, nobody would ever hurt her like that again.

“I still feel awful,” Lucy admitted quietly. “For Candace, and the others. What I did.”

“She betrayed you.”

“Because she had no other way to protect the club. After she let me do my thing for weeks. She knew, about us, about what I was doing, and she let me do it. What else was she supposed to do, Garcia?”

He loved that she said his first name. It had been so long since anyone said it but with Lucy it just felt right. Like he could be soft, intimate, the man he’d once been, or at least some version of that man, for her.

“It’s how it is, in war,” he whispered. “It’s not easy or fun and I could tell you it gets easier but it doesn’t. But they are good people. They’ll find a way to pick themselves back up. And it was for the greater good.”

“I just don’t know if that’s enough to justify it to myself.”

“You did what you had to, Lucy. There comes a time in fights where there isn’t a morally just and good solution, where you have to give up the high ground in order to do what’s actually right.”

“Like you did.” Lucy’s voice was barely a breath. “And you did it all alone.”

Flynn averted his eyes, but Lucy kissed him—on the neck, under his jaw, then on the lips.

“You did all this,” she said softly. “It’s because of you Rittenhouse will be gone. You know that, don’t you?”

Flynn looked into her soft dark eyes. “You know that whatever your other said… I’m not a…”

“You are,” Lucy said firmly. “You’re a hero.” She kissed him. “My hero,” she added, the words pushed into his mouth.

Flynn could feel his body waking up as she kept kissing him, her hands sliding over his chest, her hair falling down around them. She was soft and warm in his arms, she’d seen the darkest parts of him and still thought he was someone good, she’d chosen him… “I love you,” he whispered. He’d say it every minute if that was what she needed to believe him.

“I love you,” Lucy whispered right back. She tugged at him, rotating so that his arm was still around her, holding her, but she was now mostly underneath him as his weight bore her down into the mattress. “And now… I think it’s time we had proper celebratory sex, don’t you?”

Flynn laughed into her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he, as always, let her lead him.


	15. Chapter 15

_Six Months Later_

 

Lucy’s foot tapped nervously on the floor of the café as she waited. She’d been the first one to arrive, of course. She’d been raised to consider ‘ten minutes early’ as ‘on time’ and ‘on time’ as ‘late’.

She smoothed down her blouse and patted her hair. Ironic that she was so nervous, checking her appearance. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been seen in nothing but scraps of lace meant to show off rather than cover or support, corsets, stockings meant to titillate.

The door to the café opened, and Lucy held her breath, releasing it only when Candace sat down in front of her.

“Miss Wallace.” Candace paused. “Lucy.”

“Candace. Madam.”

They stared at one another for a moment.

“Would you like…” Lucy awkwardly signaled the waitress.

“Thank you.” Candace ordered coffee and a scone, then turned back to Lucy. “You look well. Relaxed.”

“I am, thank you.” Lucy swallowed. “The, uh, the people… the ones that we were after. They’re gone. Finished.”

“You mean Rittenhouse?” Candace raised an eyebrow. “I’m not certain they’re gone if you’re scared to say the name out loud.”

“It’s not that. I’m just. Sick of talking about them.” Lucy shrugged. “They ruled my life for three years. I’d rather put that all behind me now.”

“And have you? The world has heard nothing about Derica Wallace, so I presume you’ve made a new life for yourself.”

“More like regained my old life. I’m moving back to the Bay Area, in California. I was a history professor. I might not stay there. I might… need a change of pace. My fiancé and I were considering… if I did a year somewhere in Europe. I’ve never been.” Not in the 21st century, anyway. “We’d like to travel before we have kids.”

“Your fiancé.” A flicker of a smile graced Candace’s face. “I assume by that you mean the man who was obviously head over heels in love with you and rammed a car into me to get you back?”

“Technically, Stacy rammed the car,” Lucy pointed out. “She was pissed.”

“Yes, lying to the woman you treated like a daughter tends to cause anger.” Candace spoke a little sharply, then sighed. “My apologies. I’m not… proud of how I acted but I also can’t apologize for it, so if that’s what you’re hoping for…”

“No, no, not at all.” Lucy laid her palms flat on the table. “I only wanted to—I never fully apologized. I used you, I used the whole club, you could’ve all been shut down or arrested or worse, and I knew that but I still did it. And so I wanted to make sure you all landed on your feet. That you’re all right.”

“There’s always a need for our services,” Candace said. She nodded in thanks at the waitress as her coffee was set down in front of her. “We take our blows but we’ll never truly go away. Rittenhouse was not the only group of people to use my establishment and I think the trial made it clear that we were providing what we said we would provide. They never used us to pass on information or the like. It was simply word of mouth.”

It made sense. If one person in a group liked a particular restaurant, they’d tell all their friends about it. Word spread.

“How’s Stacy?” Lucy asked.

“Doing well. A little bored, I think, but she is… despite the way I hurt her, she’s still loyal.”

“Not that I’m trying to poach her from you but my… Flynn, is his real name. He’s going to set up a private security firm once we settle down.” Not that there was any rush to get income. Mason was taking care of them for, quote, the rest of their ridiculous lives. It was his invention that has caused all this trouble, he’d said, so he’d insisted on at the very least providing for everyone’s finances.

Candace raced an eyebrow. “And you’d like me to pass on the word to Stacy if she’s interested in joining him.”

“It won’t be for a while but… yes.”

“I’ll let her know.” Candace poured a touch of cream into her coffee and stirred it. “The one thing I regret in this is that I let them get to me about Sebastian. That was my brother’s name. I stand by the fact that they would have hurt my workers, that I did all I could, but… to let myself be so stupidly sentimental in that way.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Lucy admitted, her voice rough. “They’ll offer you the second chance you want most, the one thing we can’t—we can’t get.”

It was both a blessing and a curse, to once more be a slave of time, to only be able to go forward at the slow pace the same as everyone else did, to only have the present moment and nothing more.

“Your sister,” Candace said, slowly. “They took her from you.”

Lucy looked up into Candace’s pale, piercing blue eyes. “Yes.”

“Did you get her back?”

Lucy breathed deeply, a smile stealing over her face, thinking of the young woman currently helping Flynn box up all of Lucy’s history books in the safe house. “Yes.”

Candace reached across, taking Lucy’s hand. “I’m glad, my dear. I am. I don’t—I was angry with you. But I did like you. I did worry about you.”

“I know.” None of it changed what they did to each other but at least… at least they did care. And maybe that meant they could move forward together. Lucy forced a smile on. “I know it’s awkward now but I would like… if I’m ever in town, I’d like to stop by.”

“So you and Flynn can rent one of the club rooms?” Candace asked.

Lucy ignored the blush she felt rising to her cheeks. “Did you just tease me?”

“You have to admit you deserve it after what you two put us through. It was like watching the smuttiest romantic comedy ever.”

“I… fair enough.”

Candace squeezed her hand, then let go. “In any case, yes, you’re welcome. The others would be happy to see you.” She sipped at her coffee. “Of all the people in the world, we best understand that there’s not always right and wrong, good and bad. There’s only what you have to do. And given what we learned about them at the trial, I’d say the world is better off without Rittenhouse.”

“One group of awful spoiled white men down, only a dozen more to go,” Lucy said, a rueful smile turning the corner of her mouth up.

Candace gave a soft laugh. “Yes, precisely. But I think…” Her gaze searched Lucy’s face. “…that we have dwelled enough on that for now. Why don’t you tell me all about that sister of yours?”

Lucy grinned. “Her name’s Amy…”

 

* * *

 

Lucy looked lighter as she exited the café. Flynn had been leaning back against the car, arms folded, and could feel the ridiculous, besotted smile spreading across his face as he saw her.

“It went well, I take it?” he asked as Lucy approached him.

She planted her hands on his chest for leverage as she got up onto her tiptoes, tilting her face up. Flynn knew by now what that meant and bent his head down, his hands landing at her hips, kissing her softly. Lucy hummed happily as she pulled away. “Yes, it did. She says hello.”

“You all ready then?”

Lucy’s eyes danced. He’d watched the weight around her shoulders slowly lifting the closer they got to taking Rittenhouse down, starting with the trial, and now—now half the time he swore she was walking on air.

“Yes.” Flynn knew she was thinking about the moving van packed with all their things, Amy and the others waiting, all prepared for the road trip back to the west coast. “Let’s go home.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the shadows spill across the floor (they’re in your heart, darling)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630246) by [madsthenerdygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl)




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